All that I know is we left a trail of dead behind us, wherever we moved, so long as I was with the doleful caravan.
Looking back, after these lapse of years, the most salient characteristic seems to be the ease with which men died.

There, was little of the violence of dissolution so common at Andersonville.

The machinery of life in all of us, was running slowly and feebly; it would simply grow still slower and feebler in some, and then stop without a jar, without a sensation to manifest it.

Nightly one of two or three comrades sleeping together would die.

The survivors would not know it until they tried to get him to "spoon" over, when they would find him rigid and motionless.
As they could not spare even so little heat as was still contained in his body, they would not remove this, but lie up the closer to it until morning.