Looking towards the opposite end of the pen I saw a guard bringing his still smoking musket to a "recover arms," and, not fifteen feet from him, a prisoner lying on the ground in the agonies of death.
The latter had a pipe in his mouth when he was shot, and his teeth still clenched its stem.

His legs and arms were drawn up convulsively, and he was rocking backward and forward on his back.

The charge had struck him just above the hip-bone.
The Rebel officer in command of the guard was sitting on his horse inside the pen at the time, and rode forward to see what the matter was.
Lieutenant Davis, who had come with us from Andersonville, was also sitting on a horse inside the prison, and he called out in his usual harsh, disagreeable voice: "That's all right, Cunnel; the man's done just as I awdahed him to." I found that lying around inside were a number of bits of plank--each about five feet long, which had been sawed off by the carpenters engaged in building the prison.

The ground being a bare common, was destitute of all shelter, and the pieces looked as if they would be quite useful in building a tent.

There may have been an order issued forbidding the prisoners to touch them, but if so, I had not heard it, and I imagine the first intimation to the prisoner just killed that the boards were not to be taken was the bullet which penetrated his vitals.