If those wretched mule teams had only once a month hauled in something different--if they had come in loaded with sweet potatos, green corn or wheat flour, there would be thousands of men still living who now slumber beneath those melancholy pines.

It would have given something to look forward to, and remember when past.

But to know each day that the gates would open to admit the same distasteful apologies for food took away the appetite and raised one's gorge, even while famishing for something to eat.
We could for a while forget the stench, the lice, the heat, the maggots, the dead and dying around us, the insulting malignance of our jailors; but it was, very hard work to banish thoughts and longings for food from our minds.

Hundreds became actually insane from brooding over it.

Crazy men could be found in all parts of the camp.