I had recently read the "Iliad," and the long lines of huge fires reminded me of that scene in the first book, where the Greeks burn on the sea shore the bodies of those smitten by Apollo's pestilential-arrows For nine long nights, through all the dusky air, The pyres, thick flaming shot a dismal glare.
Five hundred weary men moved along slowly through double lines of guards.
Five hundred men marched silently towards the gates that were to shut out life and hope from most of them forever.

A quarter of a mile from the railroad we came to a massive palisade of great squared logs standing upright in the ground.

The fires blazed up and showed us a section of these, and two massive wooden gates, with heavy iron hinges and bolts.
They swung open as we stood there and we passed through into the space beyond.
We were in Andersonville..