Here is where Armstrong told us “Boys we are never going to make it.” We answered “Now you commence and you will go like Benner.” All the sick men at Belle Isle were to be transferred to City Point, an order having been issued to that effect. Whipple was not feeling well so I told him that I would try to get him off on the boat. I told him as we neared the boat for him to fall down and I would call the officers attention to him. As we had not rehearsed the part, he fell down too soon. I said “You fell down too soon. Wait until I give the word and then fall.” We came near making a mess of it, as it was. He began to laugh about the time for him to fall, but the officers did not see him laugh. The doctor asked me “what is the matter with that man?” I told him “I did not know but he was awful sick.” He finally passed him to City Point. I heard after getting home that he got as far as Annapolis, Md., and had died there. I fully expected to see him when I got home, as I knew the others were dead. He was a baker by trade and worked in Chillicothe before his enlistment. We remained for seven weeks on Belle Isle, when we were sent to Salisbury, N. C. We thought Belle Island was awful, but this place, no man can describe it, only an ex-prisoner of war. The stockade, I think, contained twenty acres and was fenced with trees split in half, with several large gates. A large brick building occupied part of the ground, which was formerly the North Carolina Penitentiary. It had three stories, the upper story, when we were there, being used as a jail for rebel deserters and other outlaws from the rebel army. If there ever was a more villainous looking set of men, I never saw them. The first night I was there I went up to this third story to sleep, as it was raining hard, not knowing anything about the place. A man came to me and asked me if I knew what kind of a place I was in? I told him I did not. He said “get out of here as quietly as possible or they would throw me out of the window.” I went instanter. Within a month Ghormley and Armstrong both died. I was going around the grounds one morning (we had long lost all dates) when I saw Edward Armstrong lying dead on the ground. I scarcely recognized him, he was so black from stooping over the little pine knot fires. The dead wagon carried him away.