My dearest Martha, This poor excuse for a letter may never reach you. But I will take that chance. My heart is so full. I must write down what has happened these last weeks. On May 11, I was following General Sheridan on an attack against Richmond. A bullet caught my horse in the throat. I ran into the woods. All at once, I was surrounded by rebel soldiers. Three weeks have passed since they marched me here to Andersonville. It is an open space with guarded fences all around. Some say there are 30,000 men here. It is very crowded. And the prison is filthy. The Georgia sun beats down on us. No trees of any kind give us shade. And we have no roof over our heads unless we can find a way to build a shelter ourselves.