Camp Nelson, Ky. November 26 1864

The morning was bitter cold.
It was freezing hard. I was
certain it would kill my sick child
to take him out in the cold. I told
the man in charge of the guard
that it would be the death of my boy.

I told him that my wife and children
had no place to go and that I
was a soldier of the United States.
He told me it did not make any difference.
He had orders to take all out of Camp.
He told my wife and family that if they

did not get up into the wagon he would
shoot the last one of them. My wife
carried her sick child in her arms.
The wind was blowing hard and cold
and having had to leave much of our
clothing when we left our master, my wife

with her little one was poorly clad. I followed
as far as the lines. At night I went in search.
They were in an old meeting house belonging
to the colored people. My wife and children
could not get near the fire, because
of the number of colored people huddling

by the soldiers. They had not received
a morsel of food during the whole day.
My boy was dead. He died directly
after getting down from the wagon.
Next morning I walked to Nicholasville.
I dug a grave and buried my child. I left

my family in the Meeting house—
where they still remain.