On reaching Goldsboro’, after alighting from the cars, we marched out to camp again. This last time it was all I could do to walk to the camp. I was fairly blind with fever, and staggered from side to side, almost dumb and insensible from prolonged suffering and exertion in sickness. While at Wilmington the last time, and from that time on, I was far too sick to look after myself much.

I reached the camp, however, and there remained until removed by other force than my own. The next morning, after coming to this camp, the lot of prisoners to which I belonged was removed to another camping-ground, some distance away. I essayed to go along, but accomplished nothing but wild staggering to and fro, and the little distance I gained I had to be carried back over.

Excepting some care received by our sick from the Sisters of Charity while we were at Charleston, Goldsboro’ was the first place in the South where Southern women manifested any sympathy for our deplorable condition. Here, the last time we came, the ladies of Goldsboro’, though the guards strove to keep them back, burst through the lines, and came into our camp loaded with baskets of provisions, which they distributed among the sick and most needy.

On being carried back to the camp, after my futile attempt to follow my comrades, I, among other sick, was loaded on a wagon and hauled to a large brick building near Goldsboro’. Here we were taken out and carried in. I had selected as a companion, on my way thither, a boy of about my own age by the name of Orlando. I promised to share my blankets with him, if he would stay with and take care of me. As he had no blanket, and I had two, one having been left with me by a man that made his escape at Macon, Ga., Orlando gladly accepted my offer, and we bunked together accordingly. Here I laid—I don’t know how many days exactly, but several—sick unto death, and expecting to die momentarily. I was very low and weak. My comrade was stronger. I noticed he prayed, and as I found difficulty in praying to my satisfaction, though I did pray, in desire to pray, continually, I asked Orlando if he would not pray for me. He did so, and I did everything I could for him that he would do this; gave him the most of what the ladies gave me (we depended solely on the ladies of Goldsboro’ for provisions), as I was so sick that I did not want food. One day, I noticed more commotion than usual in the house. Soon after, among the rest, I was carried to the cars and taken by railroad to a steamboat-landing, not many miles distant from Wilmington; here we were put on board of a boat, and placed in the hands of men bearing the uniform of the United States; and the moment which I had during all my captivity looked forward to as the happiest of my life, was one of the darkest I have ever known!

At Wilmington we were put in ambulances and hauled to improvised hospitals. The city had just been taken by our army, and our authorities were not prepared for us. But thank God that we came, anyhow, though they were unprepared. I lay in a brick building several days, without knowing any one about me. In my blind and crazy fever, I had strayed away from Orlando, I think. I sometimes staggered out to houses and asked for milk, thinking that would do me great good. I saw I was not getting along very well, and did not know how soon I might die.One day, a man thrust his head in the door and cried out: “All those wishing to go North had better get ready and go down to the wharf, as a boat is going to leave to-day.” This news went through me like electricity. I remarked to the head nurse that I was going. “Yes,” said he, “you are a sweet-looking thing to start North.” I was then one of the sickest patients in that ward. I replied, determined to make the attempt, cost what it would, “that I might as well die on the way North as die here,” and started. I staggered down the streets without knowing the direction to the point I desired to reach. Weak, sick, and reduced almost to a skeleton, I was a ghastly-looking spectacle. On I stumbled, asking almost every person I met to inform me the way, and sometimes forgetting their advice a moment afterwards. I finally reached the wharf, and there sank down to rest under the blasting disappointment of being told that no boat would leave that day. I saw soon after standing near me a member of a Kentucky regiment, whom I knew. He told me where he was staying, and that it was not far from where we then were. I immediately got up, and started for the place. I was not at all particular where I stayed; one place suited me as well as another.

I reached my friend’s stopping-place, and was taken up on the second floor. I remained here for a couple of hours, and was then given permanent quarters higher up. Reaching the room assigned me, after resting some time, I felt the vermin attack me as I had not done for many days. I hailed it as a good omen; a sign of returning sensibility. I felt that I was getting a little better. I fell to exterminating the peculiar pests with all the strength I could command. I had not been engaged in this occupation long before a physician protruded his head into my room, and stated that there was a boat going North, and that all who were able could go.

I at once spruced up my best, and told the doctor that I was ready to start. He smiled as he looked at me, but, perceiving my great anxiety to go, allowed me to undertake the voyage.

When I reached the wharf, I saw so many there expecting to go, that I knew some must be left behind; that the boat could not take all of us. I knew the habit of prisoners, and that there would be a general rush when the hatchways of the boat were thrown open. So I placed myself as near one of the hatchways as possible, and when it was opened, and the rush made, the crowd of its own force lifted me from my feet and bore me into the boat.

After several days of foggy weather—the month was March—we arrived at Annapolis, Md. During our voyage I could see that many of my companions were eating too much, and feared the result. As for myself, I was still too sick to eat anything. Perhaps this was fortunate for me. To have been turned into our lines with the starvation appetite, I might have killed myself by over-eating, as many others undoubtedly did. At Annapolis I was carried on a stretcher from the boat to a hospital in one of the Naval School buildings. Here I remained for a couple of weeks, and was then sent with some others to Baltimore, having recovered sufficiently to be allowed to undertake the journey.

On commencing to get better at Annapolis, I found my greatest trouble was with my stomach. It seemed contracted into a space no larger than my fist, and everything I ate seemed to irritate it; and I could apparently feel the exact size of any meal I had eaten, as it lay deposited in my stomach. Everything I took into my stomach seemed to weigh like lead, and constantly bear down so hard, that it made me continually miserable and unwell.

We stayed at Baltimore a few days, when our furloughs, which had been made out at Annapolis, were handed to us, and we started for home—two months’ pay and our ration commutation money having been paid to us before we left Annapolis.