In the hospital at Richmond I was assigned to a ward that a Dr. Wilson, of Marion, S. C., was in charge of. This doctor seemed to take a liking to me from the start—I guess on account of my age and size. Some three or four days after my arrival there he told me the Examining Board would meet next day. This Board would look over the wounded and furlough those who would be disqualified long enough to go home, and he said he would put me on the list to go before this Board. My hopes were high and I could scarcely await the time with patience. But ten o'clock finally came, and the crowd began to gather. The Board met in a large one-room building, one door on the side, another on the end. The Board consisted of five members, the chairman of which was an old man. Their position in the room was in chairs towards the end, opposite the end door. They had a clerk, who had listed all names of those were applying. This clerk had a doorkeeper, and he would take off the list as he had them entered, call the name to his doorkeeper, who would extend the call and admit the man. After a long wait, my name was called and I went in fully confident that I would get a furlough. I was called over to where the doctors were sitting in a row, and the old doctor told me to show up. I readily did so, and when they saw that I was wounded in the hand, he, the old doctor, said, "Pass out." I can tell you, I was disappointed, and so was Dr. Wilson; but he consoled me with the information that the Board would meet again in a few days and to try them again. This I did with the same result, only this time they did not even condescend to look at my hand. In a few days they again met, and again I went before them. But this time they didn't even allow me to stop, but as I walked in one door the old doctor waved me out of the other. This I reported to Dr. Wilson. He told me they treated me this way because so many were shooting themselves in the hands and feet to get out of service even for a time. After getting this information I went over to the officers' hospital and got a certificate signed by Capt. Wood and Lieut. Best, and got Dr. Bellinger, who came over to see how all his men were doing, to give me one, and then Col. Hagood sent his certificate to me. In the meantime, Dr. Wilson had told me to let my hand and arm lay so that the warm sun could shine through the glass on it. After doing this a couple of days my arm began to swell and turn red and the middle of my hand had become somewhat inflamed. So now I was fixed for the next meeting.

The day soon came, and early in the morning Dr. Wilson called me to him and stuck a lancet in the middle of my hand, put cotton on it and wrapped it up, telling me not get out of the board room without showing all I had. When I was called this time, as I walked in the door, the old doctor again waved me to the other door; but instead of obeying him I went over to them and asked that they look at my hand. They agreed, when I undid it and pulled off the cotton. It began to bleed. Then I pulled up my sleeve, showing them my red, swollen arm. After seeing this they consulted and told me they were sorry that it was so they could not furlough me. I certainly deserved it. I then went down in my breeches pocket and brought out those certificates, which I handed them. After reading these the old doctor said to his clerk, "Give him thirty days." I do believe Dr. Wilson was as much pleased as I was, and he got my papers for me and got me off that same night, making me twenty-four hours ahead. I left Richmond that night on a crowded train. I got a seat with a poor fellow who had just had his leg cut off, and I helped him on his way, getting him water, dividing my rations with him and at nearly all the stations home the women would be at the depots with something to eat for us wounded. I kept the old fellow in good shape up to Williston, where I left him.

I was so accustomed to walking that I did not even ask anyone at Williston to send me home. It was only fourteen miles anyway, and I had no baggage of any kind, so I did not feel that I had much before me. I reached home in due time, and mother and my sisters all seemed mighty glad to see me. They had heard of the Fort Harrison fight and slaughter, and heard that we were in it; and had even heard of some of the killed and wounded, but had heard nothing from me and had decided that "no news is good news." Hence, they were not surprised to see me.

After remaining home with my own people a few days I went up on the Four Mile to see Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, my other people. I remained there for about ten days when I went back home. It was not much longer now before my thirty days' would expire and I determined to be back to my command on time. When my sisters knew that I had been appointed a sergeant nothing would do but that they should put the stripes on my sleeves. I didn't care to have it done, but they put them on anyway.

Well, the time came for me to go back, and when I got to Williston to take the train it seemed as if I had a wagon load of boxes filled with everything good to eat and clothes to wear. There was a box for Sid Key, Ed. Harley, Job Rountree, Jno. Williams Canady, Darling Sprawls, Bill Kitchins, Mathias Hair, old man Walton Hair, Frank and Jno. Green, W. W. Woodward, Darius Ogden, and perhaps others whom I can't recall. Of course, I had one for myself. How I ever managed to get these to the camps I don't know, but they all did get there, and, it being not long till Christmas, old Company E had a regular "jollification." There were a few members of the company who did not live near me and did not get any box by me; but, all the same, those who had divided with them, and the entire company fared well for a while.

I found our command still below Richmond. I walked over from Richmond and struck the line up on the hill, and discovered that our brigade was down towards the left. I passed on down the line. Now, there were nice breastworks on the front, built out of logs. The quarters for the men were some of logs, some with logs covered with tents and some with tents only, situated in some one hundred yards in rear of the works. The space between the works and the quarters was used for a drill ground and a general street. Down this street I had to go. I had not gone far before some fellow cried out, "Here goes the dominecker sergeant," and in no time you could hear it for a mile ahead, "Here comes the dominecker sergeant." Then it was that I cursed myself for having on those stripes. I was not fit for duty for several weeks after getting back, but did take charge of my company, however—Morrison and Stewart.

Things about now were looking squally for our cause and a good many of our army were getting worn out and discouraged. The reports from Johnston's army made matters look more gloomy, and as time went on Sherman commenced his raid, going to Savannah and then turning up and entering South Carolina. Our men with families at home, who were being left homeless and in a starving condition, were very much disheartened and discouraged. Some desertions were made. I remember among the first was a man named Mack, from Orangeburg. He had heard very distressing news from his wife and children, and, failing to get a furlough, he determined to go to them. He was brought back, tried by courtmartial, convicted and sentenced to be shot. I can never forget that day. The entire corps was turned out in a large open field and formed in a hollow square. Twelve men from our regiment were drawn on the shooting detail. I was the sergeant on the detail. My duty was to have these twelve men march out twenty paces from the stake erected where the man Mack was to be placed. When reaching this position I had the twelve men stack their arms, then I moved them back out of sight and turned them over to Lieut. Southern, who was in charge of them for the execution. I then went back to the stacked arms and loaded the guns, putting blank cartridges in six and loaded cartridges in six, and restacking them.

Then in this square a wagon drove in. On this wagon was Mack, sitting on his coffin. On each side of the wagon was a guard; in rear of the wagon was the band. This procession started off at one end of the hollow square; moving to the right, the band playing the death march. They went all round the entire square, giving each and every man a good opportunity of viewing it. At last they arrived at the other end of the square, when Mack, without assistance, got off the wagon and walked to the stake. The coffin was placed just in rear; then Mack was asked to kneel down with his back to the stake, and he was tied to it with a plow line. He was blindfolded. Now Lieut. Southern, with his twelve men, was seen to enter the square at a quick step and was halted at the stacked arms. Lieut. Southern gave the command, as follows: "Attention, detail. Take arms. Carry arms. Ready—aim—fire!" At the report of the twelve guns poor Mack's head fell on his chest—he was a dead man. Lieut. Southern immediately moved his men off, so that they would see as little of it as possible, taking them back, disbanded them to their different commands. This ended the first and last lesson we ever got for desertion. It was hard to see, but such had to be, else our officers, from poor Mack's captain, his colonel, brigadier general, up to the Christian soldier, Bob Lee, would never have allowed it.