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   give to these grand men, made beasts by the cruelty of the United States Government. One of the poor fellows died and was buried—Lieutenant Fitzgerald, C. S. N.

All matter personal to myself, so far as possible, has been left out of this history with the narration of the attempt of some of us to escape from Fort Pulaski, and letters from comrades. The story of Hilton Head prison is told with this story of those who did escape. Christmas eve night, December 24, 1864, was one of the coldest nights, I think, we had to endure, while at Fort Pulaski prison. I was lying in my bunk, praying that God would let me go to sleep and never awake in life. Yes, I was begging God to let me die and end my torture. I was cold and hungry, no blanket to cover me, no fire to warm me. As I turned over in my bunk, to warm the side of my body exposed to the cold, one of the boards fell from the bunk, and I got out to replace it, that I might lie