'Fare thee well, and if forever, Still, forever fare thee well.'" At the battle of the Wilderness, on the 5th of May, 1864, Charles Smedley was captured a second time, and, as we are informed in his diary, was taken by the Confederates to Gordonsville, thence to Danville, from Danville to the prisoners' pen at Andersonville, Georgia, and lastly to Florence, South Carolina. At Andersonville he remained nearly four months in a stockade filled with thousands of Northern patriots. Here he suffered untold hardships, being exposed to the scorching rays of the sun, the cold atmosphere of the night, and to frequent storms of rain. The premeditated, gradual starvation process of his vile captors, together with the constant exposure to all kinds of weather, did its work effectually. His health at last became impaired and his physical constitution forever shattered. On the thirteenth of September, along with many others, he reached the town of Florence, where he was placed in another pen, in every respect similar to the one he had left at Andersonville. Here his sufferings increased. Being much reduced, and possessing hardly sufficient strength to assist himself, he was at last admitted into what was termed a hospital. In this hospital he lingered along for a few weeks, when his system gradually succumbed from the effects of hunger and exposure. During the night of the sixteenth of November, 1864, the spirit of Charles Smedley left its mortal tenement for other realms. His body was prepared for burial by a few of his fellow soldiers, and was interred in the burying ground a short distance north-northwest of the stockade, in Florence, South Carolina. In the person of Charles Smedley there were nicely blended many of the noblest traits of human character. As a religious and moral young man he had few equals. From his early youth he had a strong aversion to all those evil habits which have so often been the stepping stones to vice in its most hideous forms. Profanity and the use of that filthy narcotic weed, proved harmless as tempters to him. Still less powerful was that subtle enemy of mankind, which "quickeneth and giveth color to the cup, and stingeth like an adder."[3] In all his transactions his rule was to do that only which his conscience told him was right. His goodness of heart, his amiable disposition, gained him many friends, and wherever known, whether at home in his native township, or in the army of his country, none knew him other than the noble young man and soldier. To-day the remains of Charles Smedley, along with those of thousands of other patriotic martyrs, lie in the trenches near Florence. No marble pile or grass covered mound will, in all probability, ever mark his last resting place, but his name will be ever cherished and held in remembrance by his friends, as one who was willing to offer up his life that his country might live. FOOTNOTES: