While our hearts were justly filled with indignation toward the rebel government for its inhuman treatment of their prisoners, should they not also have been toward our own, for thus shamefully neglecting those within its reach? I do not pretend to say that this camp equalled Southern prison-pens in degradation and wretchedness; but _they_ were beyond our control, while over _this_ floated the flag of our country. Think of men sick with fever, pneumonia, or chronic diarrhœa, eating raw pork and lying upon the cold, damp ground, with only one blanket, and, it may be, none, and the wonder will be, not that they died, but that any recovered. I would not be understood to say that all in this camp were thus feeble and destitute, but there were many such; while, at the same time, there were others, who, had they possessed a spirit of true manliness and patriotism, would have been ashamed to have been seen hanging around the Convalescents’ Camp, but would have been found at the front, at their posts of duty. There were, at this time, some two hundred Michigan men in this camp. Their tents were pitched on a side-hill, so that, when it rained, the water would run through them like a river, in spite of the little trench surrounding each one. I was frequently told that when there was a drenching rain they were obliged to stand up all night to keep their clothing from being completely saturated, and, wrapping their blankets around them, they like true soldiers submitted to their fate. During the cold, chilly nights, those not fortunate enough to possess a blanket were compelled to walk to and fro the entire night to keep warm, thus pacing off the long, weary hours while waiting for the dawn, and, when the sun was up, lie down and sleep beneath his cheering rays, and so prepare themselves for another night’s tramp. Methinks there will be a fearful account for some one to settle when the “final statements” are forwarded to the Court of Heaven.