Does the reader fully understand that in September one-third of those in the pen died, that in October one-half of the remainder perished, and in November one-third of those who still survived, died?  Let him pause for a moment and read this over carefully again; because its startling magnitude will hardly dawn upon him at first reading.  It is true that the fearfully disproportionate mortality of those months was largely due to the fact that it was mostly the sick that remained behind, but even this diminishes but little the frightfulness of the showing.  Did any one ever hear of an epidemic so fatal that one-third of those attacked by it in one month died; one-half of the remnant the next month, and one-third of the feeble remainder the next month?  If he did, his reading has been much more extensive than mine.

The greatest number of deaths in one day is reported to have occurred on the 23d of August, when one hundred and twenty-seven died, or one man every eleven minutes.

The greatest number of prisoners in the Stockade is stated to have been August 8, when there were thirty-three thousand one hundred and fourteen.

I have always imagined both these statements to be short of the truth, because my remembrance is that one day in August I counted over two hundred dead lying in a row.  As for the greatest number of prisoners, I remember quite distinctly standing by the ration wagon during the whole time of the delivery of rations, to see how many prisoners there really were inside.  That day the One Hundred and Thirty-Third Detachment was called, and its Sergeant came up and drew rations for a full detachment.  All the other detachments were habitually kept full by replacing those who died with new comers.  As each detachment consisted of two hundred and seventy men, one hundred and thirty-three detachments would make thirty-five thousand nine hundred and ten, exclusive of those in the hospital, and those detailed outside as cooks, clerks, hospital attendants and various other employments—­say from one to two thousand more.

CHAPTER XLIII.

Difficulty of exercising—­embarrassments of A morning walk—­the Rialto of the prison—­cursing the southern confederacy—­the story of the battle of Spottsylvania Courthouse.

Certainly, in no other great community, that ever existed upon the face of the globe was there so little daily ebb and flow as in this.  Dull as an ordinary Town or City may be; however monotonous, eventless, even stupid the lives of its citizens, there is yet, nevertheless, a flow every day of its life-blood—­its population towards its heart, and an ebb of the same, every evening towards its extremities.  These recurring tides mingle all classes together and promote the general healthfulness, as the constant motion hither and yon of the ocean’s waters purify and sweeten them.