On the journey from Cheboygan to Washington, a stop was made at Greenville. With his host, a call was made on the Rev. James L. Patton, pastor of the Congregational Church of that place. As the evening passed, conversation turned to army happenings. After reciting some experiences in the service of the United States Christian Commission, with an aroused manner, Dr. Patton said, "I must tell you of an occasion that I shall never forget. I was in the Christian Commission service outside Wilmington, North Carolina, near the close of the war, with General Terry, when he received the first installment of old Andersonville prisoners as they were sent into our lines. Terry was all broken up over their condition." "Could the prisoners walk?" asked the writer. "Yes," he replied; "some of them could, but many had to be brought in on ambulances." He was asked, "Where did you put those who were sick?" "We laid them on the floor of a little church that was close by," Dr. Patton replied. Extending his hand the writer said, "Dr. Patton, thank you." "Why, why," he replied hesitatingly, "you need not thank me for the story; it is true and you are welcome to it." "Yes," was the response, "I have no doubt the story is true. I do not thank you for it, but for helping me out of the ambulance at that time." Need it be said that these two men found themselves comrades, indeed? CHAPTER IX. AN INCIDENT BY THE WAY. A steamboat on the northeast branch of the Cape Fear river carried our paroled men from the station held by General Terry to the city of Wilmington. One of the principal mansions was owned by a Dr. Wright who had fled with his family on the approach of the Union troops. His fine residence was converted into a hospital for the arrivals who were sick. During the ride from Goldsboro on top of a freight car, the writer was taken ill and was barely able to walk the steamer plank at the point of transfer. After resting in the little country church he was taken to the Wright House Hospital and assigned a straw bed on the floor of a room in the third story. Soldier nurses proceeded to take off his infested prison rags and to give him a sponge rub. He fainted under the process and had a run of fever during which he was delirious. When the point of death was apparently reached his vitality took a turn for the better and he rapidly improved. On the floor of his room were twelve narrow straw beds having a succession of occupants who, with a few exceptions, were soon transferred to their final resting places. Many of the ex-prisoners having died from the effects of the too early use of solid food, the physicians became extremely cautious and limited the sick to small quantities of the most simple preparations.