The diseases were different in character from those which swept off the prisoners at Andersonville.  There they were mostly of the digestive organs; here of the respiratory.  The filthy, putrid, speedily fatal gangrene of Andersonville became here a dry, slow wasting away of the parts, which continued for weeks, even months, without being necessarily fatal.  Men’s feet and legs, and less frequently their hands and arms, decayed and sloughed off.  The parts became so dead that a knife could be run through them without causing a particle of pain.  The dead flesh hung on to the bones and tendons long after the nerves and veins had ceased to perform their functions, and sometimes startled one by dropping off in a lump, without causing pain or hemorrhage.

The appearance of these was, of course, frightful, or would have been, had we not become accustomed to them.  The spectacle of men with their feet and legs a mass of dry ulceration, which had reduced the flesh to putrescent deadness, and left the tendons standing out like cords, was too common to excite remark or even attention.  Unless the victim was a comrade, no one specially heeded his condition.  Lung diseases and low fevers ravaged the camp, existing all the time in a more or less virulent condition, according to the changes of the weather, and occasionally ragging in destructive epidemics.  I am unable to speak with any degree of definiteness as to the death rate, since I had ceased to interest myself about the number dying each day.  I had now been a prisoner a year, and had become so torpid and stupefied, mentally and physically, that I cared comparatively little for anything save the rations of food and of fuel.  The difference of a few spoonfuls of meal, or a large splinter of wood in the daily issues to me, were of more actual importance than the increase or decrease of the death rate by a half a score or more.  At Andersonville I frequently took the trouble to count the number of dead and living, but all curiosity of this kind had now died out.

Nor can I find that anybody else is in possession of much more than my own information on the subject.  Inquiry at the War Department has elicited the following letters: 

I.

The prison records of Florence, S. C., have never come to light, and therefore the number of prisoners confined there could not be ascertained from the records on file in this office; nor do I think that any statement purporting to show that number has ever been made.

In the report to Congress of March 1, 1869, it was shown from records as follows: 

Escaped, fifty-eight; paroled, one; died, two thousand seven hundred and ninety-three.  Total, two thousand eight hundred and fifty-two.

Since date of said report there have been added to the records as follows: 

Died, two hundred and twelve; enlisted in Rebel army, three hundred and twenty-six.  Total, five hundred and thirty-eight.