The rebs had driven us back and held us out of Alabama. We marched east for two weeks with no information about where we were heading. Some of the more wounded soldiers died along the march. The rebs would kick them off the path and leave their dead bodies behind as we continued to march. Rations were two cups of water per day and a can of beans. We stopped for a few hours per night for sleep. The sun was blistering, and the rain did not slow us down. My wound became infected as we marched. I begged for medical help and was given none. Every chance I got, I would duck into the ditches to wash the wound. Our captors would pull me from the ditch and push me back in line. Several times I was belted in the stomach which forced the wound to bleed again. I am convinced this helped clean the wound. .
After twenty days of marching, my feet were blistered and bloodied as were those of my company mates. Most of us had torn out pants above the knee and used the scraps for makeshift shoes. Finally we could see our final destination, Fort Sumter. From the distance it looked like a massive fort. It was constructed of Georgia pine logs about twenty feet tall. The walls were lined guard towers every one hundred or so posts. The surrounding land was pine forest, with no sight of a town anywhere. We were coming in from the west and most of the stockade was not visible. As we got closer, we could tell the camp spanned the area of a small farm. Our formation moved slightly to the south so we could enter the stockade. With the change in direction, the wind also changed direction. It was now coming from the north. It carried with it the worst smell I ever smelled. It reminded me of the time the cow died on the vacant farm next to my childhood home. No one knew the cow had died until the stench was so bad it made your eyes water as you got closer to the decaying carcass. On the south wall was an enormous gate. The gate was constructed of the same pine logs banded together by smaller logs.
