Life in Southern Prisons: From the Diary of Corporal Charles Smedley, of Company G, 90th Regiment Penn'a Volunteers, Commencing a Few Days Before the "Battle of the Wilderness", In Which He Was Taken Prisoner ... Also, a Short Description of the March to and Battle of Gettysburg, Together with a Biographical Sketch of the Author

In Short

This book preserves the final diary of Charles Smedley, a Pennsylvania volunteer who enlisted out of a deep sense of duty to his country. After being captured during the Battle of the Wilderness in 1864, Smedley recorded his struggle for survival in the infamous Andersonville prison and later at Florence, South Carolina. The diary is a stark, authentic account of malnutrition, exposure, and the quiet persistence of a man attempting to maintain his dignity in the face of systemic neglect. It serves as a haunting, primary record of the human cost of the Civil War.

The Story

The narrative begins with a biographical sketch by Dr. Charles H. Stubbs, which frames Smedley as a young man of steady, principled character. Despite being raised in a Quaker family with a moral testimony against war, Smedley concludes that preserving the Union is a paramount obligation. He enlists in 1862, viewing military service not as a pursuit of glory, but as a somber necessity. The diary itself opens in May 1864, just days before the Battle of the Wilderness. Smedley describes the chaos of the engagement, the thick smoke of battle, and the tragic missteps that leave him separated from his regiment and captured by Confederate skirmishers.

From the moment of his capture, the account shifts from the movement of armies to the static, brutal geography of imprisonment. Smedley describes the journey to Danville and eventually to the crowded, unsanitary stockade at Andersonville, Georgia. Here, the diary chronicles the daily fight for survival. He meticulously notes the meager rations—often little more than corn meal and a scrap of bacon—and his recurring battle with chronic diarrhea. He describes the physical environment with grim precision: the swampy terrain, the scorching sun, the lack of shelter, and the constant, overwhelming hunger.

As the months pass, the narrative captures the slow erosion of his health. Smedley spends his days trying to mend his clothes, reading a borrowed Bible, or performing small acts of kindness for fellow prisoners, such as Dr. Buckley, a surgeon who also fell captive. The reader follows Smedley as he is transferred to Florence, South Carolina, in the autumn of 1864. By this point, his entries become shorter and more sporadic as his strength wanes. He describes the cold, the lack of medicine, and the encroaching fatigue.

The final portion of the book is provided by Dr. Buckley, who recounts Smedley’s final days. Buckley observes Smedley’s generous nature, noting how the young corporal insisted on giving his own meager food to a sicker comrade, David Close. As Smedley’s condition deteriorates into exhaustion and dropsical swelling, he eventually succumbs to his illness on the night of November 16, 1864. The account concludes with a brief, dignified description of his burial in a ground near the Florence stockade, marking the end of a life defined by quiet, uncomplaining service.

How It Unfolds

The call to duty Smedley rejects the allure of military fame, enlisting instead under the conviction that the national existence of his country requires his active participation. He views his service as an unavoidable moral burden rather than a romantic adventure.

Capture at the Wilderness During the intense combat in May 1864, Smedley finds himself separated from his unit and trapped in a ditch under heavy fire. He and his companions are eventually forced to surrender to a Confederate officer, marking the beginning of his captivity.

Arrival at Andersonville The diary describes the shock of entering the stockade, where thousands are crowded into an insufficient space. Smedley records the struggle to find room for a small tent and the immediate, crushing reality of starvation rations.

The struggle for health Through the summer, the diary tracks a repetitive cycle of illness and recovery. Smedley documents his bouts with chronic diarrhea, his small trades for food, and his efforts to maintain a routine of cleaning and reading.

Transfer to Florence In September, the prisoners are moved to a new camp in South Carolina. Smedley’s entries reflect his increasing fragility as the weather turns cold and his physical constitution begins to fail.

The final decline In the last weeks of his life, Smedley is moved to a hospital ward. He continues to assist others, but his own strength is spent, leading to his death in November 1864.

The People

Charles Smedley is the quiet anchor of the narrative. He is defined by his modesty, his religious faith, and a deep-seated desire to do what he considers "right." He does not complain about his captors in a vengeful way; instead, he focuses on his physical sensations and his persistent attempts to stay clean and useful. His character remains remarkably consistent, from his early letters home to his final days in the hospital, where he prioritizes the needs of David Close over his own survival.

David Close appears in the latter stages of the book as a fellow sufferer. His decline serves as a mirror for Smedley’s own experience; both men cling to the hope of relief while growing weaker. Their interaction, mediated by Smedley’s self-sacrifice, highlights the bonds of solidarity that formed among the prisoners.

Dr. Buckley is the professional witness and, ultimately, the chronicler of Smedley’s end. As a surgeon and fellow prisoner, he provides a clinical but compassionate view of the conditions within the camp. He recognizes Smedley’s noble traits, transforming from a fellow captive into a mourner who ensures that Smedley’s final acts of kindness are remembered. Together, these men represent the varied backgrounds of the Union army, all converging in the desperate environment of the Southern prison system.

In Its Own Voice

Smedley expresses his philosophy of service and his willingness to accept whatever fate the war has in store for him:

"If it is never to be my lot to return to you, remember me only as one who went to do his duty."

The reality of the prison environment, recorded during a moment of profound deprivation, emphasizes the scarcity that defined his daily existence:

"Drew seventy-five loaves of bread for the balance of yesterday's rations; also for to-day, six 'hard tack,' pork and rice, to a man, for two days' rations."

He briefly notes the harshness of the elements as he attempts to endure his illness and the surrounding decay:

"Last night it was so cold that it was as much as I could do to keep from freezing."

What It's Really About

This book is a study of individual character under the pressure of total deprivation. It asks what remains of a person when their physical autonomy, nutrition, and environment are stripped away by the machinery of war. Smedley’s diary suggests that even in a state of near-starvation, a sense of duty and the instinct to care for others can survive. The work is not an indictment of the enemy so much as a clinical observation of the consequences of neglect. It poses fundamental questions about the limits of human endurance and the value of a single life amidst the massive, impersonal scale of a national conflict.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the granular reality of the American Civil War will find this book essential. It is not a polished military history; it is a raw, immediate experience. The prose is utilitarian and straightforward, reflecting the mindset of a soldier who focuses on the tasks of the day—mend a stocking, trade a knife, boil a ration of beans—as a way to stave off despair. For those who enjoy history from the "bottom up," Smedley’s diary provides an intimate, unembellished perspective that is often missing from official accounts.

The book is not always easy to read. Smedley’s descriptions of illness are stark, and the reader will find no grand heroic narrative or dramatic rescue. The pacing is dictated by the slow, painful rhythm of life in a stockade. However, the warmth of the editors' intent—to honor a young man who died for his convictions—shines through the biographical notes. Reading this is an act of witness; it forces you to sit with the quiet, persistent, and ultimately tragic reality of a life that was given in full to the cause of the Union. It stays with you, not because of its scale, but because of its startling, human fragility.