Carried in a dirty wagon without any cover to the prison, a
filthy place, an old warehouse and stores. We were on the first floor, about
three hundred, as thick as we could lie. No ventilation. I saw the Doctor in
the morning; he said he would send me to the hospital. I could not eat
anything; am feverish and so weak. No crutches. I have to be partly carried,
partly hop along, when I move. Ration issued, corn bread, thick loaf, and
bacon. I can't touch either; still drink water. If I do not get away from here
very soon, I never shall. Wagon came for me about six, an open wagon or cart,
used to carry bacon in, all covered with dirt and grease; gravel spread on the
bottom to cover the grease; ride over rough road to hospital; am in a tent, old
and ragged, but airy; good breeze. (Small-pox.)
SOURCE: Francis Winthrop Palfrey, Memoir of William
Francis Bartlett, p. 120
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