On the 8th of September, I, with others, was sent from there, and in due time arrived at Savannah. From thence we were moved to Charleston, South Carolina, where the rebels made a kind of military display of us, by marching us through the city, and putting us in the prison, near the officers who were under the fire of our own guns.
We remained there only one day and night, and then were marched to the rear of the city on the race-course track, where we staid but a short time; then I was sent to Florence, South Carolina. Shortly after I arrived there, I was taken out on "parole of honor," and sent to the Federal hospital by the rebel surgeons, as master of one of the wards there.
It was there I became acquainted with Corporal Charles Smedley, of Company G, Ninetieth Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers, (although I had frequently seen him at sick call, while at Andersonville, but did not make his acquaintance,) who was a patient in my ward.
A little incident occurred there that manifested his kind and generous disposition, which attracted my attention, and caused me to feel a deep interest in his welfare. I had prepared some food for him, the best I could get, and took it to him. He immediately gave it all to David Close, (who was a fellow prisoner with him, and very sick,) saying, "you need it worse than I."
When he first came to the hospital, he complained of chronic diarrhœa and dysentery. After a few days the dysentery left him, though he was very weak. He kindly waited on David Close, and seemed willing to do all he could for him, as he considered Close worse than himself. I think he hurt himself by over exertion. He waited on Close all he could, until he died, which appears to have occurred on the morning of the 18th of October.
A few days after the death of David Close, the hospital was moved inside of the stockade, to the North-west corner. Charles, with others, walked in. In the evening Charles came over to the hospital. We told him he had better get his things, and come back to the hospital and stay, which he did. Shortly after he came, his hands became very sore, apparently from a dropsical affection, and were bandaged up.
His walk, from the hospital to the inside of the stockade, appeared to have been too much for his strength. From that day he became worse, though he was able to walk about, almost every day, until the day before he died.
He gave me his watch some time before, saying, "he might drop off any time," and requested me, if it should so happen, to take it home to his father, and tell him all, which I promised him I would do, if it was possible. He seemed cheerful, and manifested no fears of death. In fact, he always appeared cheerful and in good spirits, and seemed confident that he would get home again. He certainly had a very hard and trying time while in prison, but was seldom heard to complain or find fault. He was a good soldier and a true patriot.
He died on the night of the 16th of November, 1864. He was washed, shaved, and clean clothes put on him, but no coffin was provided for him. His body was wrapped in a sheet and buried in the burial ground, a short distance north of north-west of the stockade. The number of his grave was probably recorded at the rebel headquarters, as is their custom, but I do not know the number. I tried to get the number, but could not, for reasons best known to the rebel officers.