that any of our commanding officers had ever done. Well, I had nothing else to do but to obey the colonel and I had no sooner gotten fairly on the line of the works than the enemy’s sharpshooters commenced firing at me. Here is one place in my life where I knew that I was being fired at, and if there was one shot fired I believe there were thirty. Captain Woodard of our Company went right after the colonel and told him that he had command of Company D and he would either take that man from those works or either one or the other would die, and while they were contending over the matter I came down off the works. Well the next battle that occurred was at Gettysburg, in my own native state, and here the colonel was shot by sharpshooters and died in a few hours. Thus ends this thrilling experience. Now I will, by the help of the all-wise God, proceed to relate another sad picture of my life and the story of my capture and confinement in southern hells, called stockade prisons. Now, as I should have given the date of my enlistment, also of my capture, I will say that I entered the army on the 28th day of August, 1862, in Company D, Eighty-Third Regiment, commanded by S. Strong Vincon, of Erie county, Pennsylvania, and our company commander was Captain O. S. Woodard, of Waterford, Erie county, Pennsylvania. At the battle of the Weldon Railroad, while on outside picket, I was taken prisoner, with many others, and carried to Macon state prison and was confined in this prison about two weeks. This was the first prison in which I was ever confined. This prison is just ten miles from Andersonville. Now for about two days before we got to this place, we had about one day’s rations of corn meal issued to us, with about four ounces of bacon, and this bacon was nearly rotten. I felt that I must let my friends know where I was confined, for my poor mother, after the death of my brother, had mourned his loss so much that she nearly died. What I wished to do was to get a letter to my captain. I knew that this would soon be sent home and would let my folks know where I was. I observed in this prison a man who had formerly been a Union man and whom the rebels had drafted into the southern service. He wrote a very few lines for me, and while he wrote he told me that he had been pressed into the rebel army, but just as soon as an opportunity presented itself he deserted and had been court-marshaled and was sentenced to be shot the next day at ten o’clock. Yet he wrote a very fine letter and told me that he had friends that he expected would help him out. We were at this time in the outside yard to the prison. Some sixteen feet of wall surrounded us, the top of which was covered with glass. Now when we all fell in line it seems there was a box close to a large flight of stairs that led up to the second floor. This man said to me that his cell mate, if I remember right, was to shove this box, which had an