We called him "Flagstaff," and cracked all sorts of jokes about putting an insulator on his head, and setting him up for a telegraph pole, braiding his legs and using him for a whip lash, letting his hair grow a little longer, and trading him off to the Rebels for a sponge and staff for the artillery, etc.

We all expected him to die, and looked continually for the development of the fatal scurvy symptoms, which were to seal his doom.

But he worried through, and came out at last in good shape, a happy result due as much as to anything else to his having in Chester Hayward, of Prairie City, Ill.,--one of the most devoted chums I ever knew.

Chester nursed and looked out for George with wife-like fidelity, and had his reward in bringing him safe through our lines.

There were thousands of instances of this generous devotion to each other by chums in Andersonville, and I know of nothing that reflects any more credit upon our boy soldiers.
There was little chance for any one to accumulate flesh on the rations we were receiving.