The 8th came and in the afternoon the 9th thousand was called up for inspection. I went out to the dead line where the inspection was going on to see what my chances probably were. The surgeons were sending out about every third or fourth man. The 9th and 10th thousand were inspected and then came the 11th, to which I belonged. I went to my tent and told the boys I was going to try my chances, “but,” I added, “keep supper waiting.” I took my haversack with me, leaving my blanket, which had fallen to me as heir of Rouse, and went to the dead line and fell in with my hundred, the 8th. After waiting impatiently for a while I told Harry Lowell, the Sergeant of my hundred, that I was going down the line to see what our chances were. It was getting almost dark, the surgeons were getting in a hurry to complete their task and were taking every other man. I went back and told Harry I was going out, I felt it in my bones. This was the first time I had entertained a good healthy, well developed hope, since I arrived in Richmond, more than a year previous. The 6th hundred was called, then the 7th and at last the 8th. We marched down to our allotted position with limbs trembling with excitement. That surgeon standing there so unconcernedly, held my fate in his hands. He was soon to say the word that would restore me to “God’s Country,” to home and friends, or send me back to weary months of imprisonment. My turn came. “What ails you?” the surgeon asked. “I have had diarrhea and scurvy for eight months,” was my reply, and I pulled up the legs of my pants to show him my limbs, which were almost as black as a stove. He passed his hands over the emaciated remains of what had once been my arms and asked, “When is your time of service out?” “It was out the 10th of last October,” said I. “You can go out.” That surgeon was a stranger to me. I never saw him before that day nor have I seen him since, but upon the tablet of my memory I have written him down as FRIEND. I did not wait for a second permission but started for the gate. Just as I was going out some of my comrades saw me and shouted, “Bully for you Bill; you’re a lucky boy!” and I believed I was. After passing outside I went to a tent where two or three clerks were busy upon rolls and signed the parole. Before I left Harry Lowell joined me and together we went into camp where rations of flour were issued to us. After dark Harry and I stole past the guard and went down to the gravediggers’ quarters where we were provided with a supper of rice, sweet potatoes and biscuits. I have no doubt that to-day I should turn up my nose at the cooking of that dish, for the sweet potatoes and rice were stewed and baked together, but I did not then. After supper John Burk baked our flour into biscuits, using cob ashes in the place of soda; after which we stole back into camp.