Nothing, I am sure, since the days of the Inquisition—­or still later, since the terrible punishments visited upon the insurgents of 1848 by the Austrian aristocrats—­has been so diabolical as the stocks and chain-gangs, as used by Wirz.  At one time seven men, sitting in the stocks near the Star Fort—­in plain view of the camp—­became objects of interest to everybody inside.  They were never relieved from their painful position, but were kept there until all of them died.  I think it was nearly two weeks before the last one succumbed.  What they endured in that time even imagination cannot conceive—­I do not think that an Indian tribe ever devised keener torture for its captives.

The chain-gang consisted of a number of men—­varying from twelve to twenty-five, all chained to one sixty-four pound ball.  They were also stationed near the Star Fort, standing out in the hot sun, without a particle of shade over them.  When one moved they all had to move.  They were scourged with the dysentery, and the necessities of some one of their number kept them constantly in motion.  I can see them distinctly yet, tramping laboriously and painfully back and forward over that burning hillside, every moment of the long, weary Summer days.

A comrade writes to remind me of the beneficent work of the Masonic Order.  I mention it most gladly, as it was the sole recognition on the part of any of our foes of our claims to human kinship.  The churches of all denominations—­except the solitary Catholic priest, Father Hamilton, —­ignored us as wholly as if we were dumb beasts.  Lay humanitarians were equally indifferent, and the only interest manifested by any Rebel in the welfare of any prisoner was by the Masonic brotherhood.  The Rebel Masons interested themselves in securing details outside the Stockade in the cookhouse, the commissary, and elsewhere, for the brethren among the prisoners who would accept such favors.  Such as did not feel inclined to go outside on parole received frequent presents in the way of food, and especially of vegetables, which were literally beyond price.  Materials were sent inside to build tents for the Masons, and I think such as made themselves known before death, received burial according to the rites of the Order.  Doctor White, and perhaps other Surgeons, belonged to the fraternity, and the wearing of a Masonic emblem by a new prisoner was pretty sure to catch their eyes, and be the means of securing for the wearer the tender of their good offices, such as a detail into the Hospital as nurse, ward-master, etc.

I was not fortunate enough to be one of the mystic brethren, and so missed all share in any of these benefits, as well as in any others, and I take special pride in one thing:  that during my whole imprisonment I was not beholden to a Rebel for a single favor of any kind.  The Rebel does not live who can say that he ever gave me so much as a handful of meal, a spoonful of salt, an inch of thread, or a stick of wood.  From first to last I received nothing but my rations, except occasional trifles that I succeeded in stealing from the stupid officers charged with issuing rations.  I owe no man in the Southern Confederacy gratitude for anything—­not even for a kind word.