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——"Be just, and fear not;
Let all the ends thou aim’st at, be thy country’s,
Thy God’s and truth's."

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NEW-YORK:
S. W. GREEN, PRINTER, 16 AND 18 JACOB STREET.
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1874.

INTRODUCTION.

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          I AM not in the habit of making excuses for my conduct, having long since learned that he who honestly reverences God and loves his fellow-men has nothing to fear from his enemies, and is sure of numbering among his friends all the brave and true, however much they may differ with him about matters of mere opinion; and, consequently, I do not intend to offer any excuse to my readers for the publication of the following pages.

          The great Rebellion, no matter from what standpoint we may regard it, is nevertheless a great fact, and whatever helps to throw any light upon the darker pages of its history must ever be of interest to all American readers sincerely desirous to form a correct judgment of the motives which influenced the combatants in that grandest of modern conflicts. It can not be denied that the triumphant North has sought to distort the facts of history in some measure, in order to "make treason odious;" but for all that, the voice of History will speak impartially to the coming generations, of "our late unpleasantness," and will doubtless give to both sections their proper mead of praise, as well as their due proportion of censure.

          To aid the future historian to the extent of my humble offering, is the chief motive which induces me to publish the following pages, most of which were written while a prisoner of war on Johnson’s Island, and have besides a history of their own which lends to them an additional interest.

          As will be found by a perusal of this book I now offer the public, I made my escape from Johnson’s Island on the 2d day of January, 1865, and attempted to reach Canada afoot, walking at night and sleeping in hay-lofts during the day. After nearly a week of untold hardships and sufferings, I was recaptured and taken back to my old quarters. On reaching the head-quarters of the commandant of Johnson’s Island, I was stripped to the skin, and there being found concealed on my person a journal of prison life, it was taken from me. On making application subsequently to Colonel Hill for my MS., I was informed that it had been sent to the Commissary-General of Prisoners at Washington.

          I heard nothing more of my MS. for nine years. In January, 1874, I received notice from the Postmaster at Huntsville, Ala., that a certain Alexander R. Jones, of New-York, desired my address. As I could not remember ever having met such a person, my curiosity was piqued to learn what he wanted of me, so I gave him immediately the information he sought. Pretty soon thereafter, I received from him the following letter:

"NEW-YORK, January 13, '74.

          "COL. D. R. HUNDLEY, Editor, etc., Courtland, Ala.:

          "DEAR SIR: Yours of 3d inst., giving your address, is received.

          "I have seen and read with much interest a journal which you wrote while in Yankee prison during the war. It contains about one hundred and eighty pages, letter size, and fine paper. It struck me as being a valuable souvenir, either to yourself or friends, and the desire to ‘put it where it would do the most good,’ is my only excuse for writing you. It is in the possession of a man formerly a soldier of the U. S. Army, now in this city. He would not give it to me, nor do I think he would part with it if he thought it would be returned to the writer of it; but I think I could purchase it of him for a reasonable sum. I have not tried to do so, and will not till I hear front you again.

"I am yours respectfully,

ALEX. R. JONES,
"438 Broadway (up-stairs), New-York."

          I will confess this was to me a most agreeable surprise. I had long since forgotten my prison journal, considering it as numbered among the many beautiful and lovely things swallowed up in the vortex of the great Rebellion. I immediately wrote to Mr. Jones, however, and informed him of the facts connected with the unjust seizure of my journal, and wound up by declaring myself too poor to purchase what was mine by right without purchase, and expressing a hope that Mr. Jones would prevail upon the honorable Federal soldier who now had possession of my long-lost MS. to return it to me without favor or reward; and the more especially since, during the war, I was a "foeman worthy of his steel," and since the war claimed to be "thoroughly reconstructed." After that I heard nothing more from Mr. Jones, but in a few weeks my journal was returned to me through the United States mail. It had not been mutilated in the least, but, on the contrary, was well preserved; and I desire here to return my thanks to the unknown friend who did me this act of kindness.

          It will be seen that my journal is a thorough rebel production, and I have thought it best to publish it just as it was written, for otherwise it would be like giving a performance of Hamlet, with the part of Hamlet left out. I had prepared it for publication in Canada, had I succeeded in reaching that haven so earnestly longed for by distressed rebels during the war. Since 1857, I had been in the habit of keeping a diary, which I continued during the whole war. The first part of my prison journal was only an enlargement of my diary, giving an account of my experiences from Kennesaw Mountain to Johnson’s Island. The second part consisted of literal extracts from my diary while in prison. I have now added a third part, giving an account of my escape and recapture, which I believe will also be of interest to the reader.

          I did intend to publish an Appendix to the whole; but, as I have been collecting material for several years now for another work on the results of the Rebellion, I have concluded to abandon my first intention, and leave the reader to form his own conclusions from a perusal of my Prison Echoes, without having his attention distracted by note or comment. I believe, however, a few words of explanation, by way of introduction, will not be amiss.

          Just after graduating in the Law School of Harvard University, I married the daughter of a Virginia gentleman largely interested in real estate in the suburbs of Chicago, and was thus induced to go there to live in 1856, and to make that place my permanent home. I had a pretty residence on the lake-shore, just north of the city limits, and was living there at the breaking out of the Rebellion. I had many warm friends in Chicago, and I preferred living there to living in Alabama, my native State. I was also ardently attached to the Union, and bitterly opposed to the abolitionists and the secessionists, whom I considered par nobile fratrum. Consequently, in the Presidential contest of 1860, I was a staunch supporter of Douglas, and the regular correspondent during the campaign of a leading Douglas paper in the South.

          After the election of Mr. Lincoln, as had been my custom for several winters, I took my family South in November, to remain until spring, leaving my house and grounds in charge of my hired man and his wife. On reaching Alabama, I found society turned upside down, owing to the result of the election, the people being divided into three parties: Secessionists, Coöperationists, and Unionists. The Secessionists were clamorous for immediate secession, and were composed mostly of politicians and planters. The Coöperationists were for a union of all the Southern States in opposition to any encroachments by Mr. Lincoln on their rights, and were opposed to secession, except as a last resort; and they numbered in their ranks the great body of the people of intelligence and moral worth in the State. The Unionists were a body so small as hardly to be counted, but they were for the Union under all circumstances. I took my position with the Coöperationists, having great confidence in the sober second thought of the people North and South, and being still hopeful that every thing would yet be satisfactorily adjusted. After the failure of the Peace Congress, which met in Washington, in February, 1861, however, over which the venerable ex-President Tyler presided, I began to lose faith. Soon afterward came the unfortunate affair of Fort Sumter, when there no longer remained any neutral ground on which a man could stand. Since I had to take sides with one section or the other, I unhesitatingly cast in my lot with the people of my native State. My property was in the North, however, and I was at a loss what steps to take in regard to it, until Mr. Lincoln issued his proclamation giving the insurgent States twenty days in which to return to their allegiance. Considering this my opportunity for returning to Chicago to make some disposition of my real estate there, I immediately started on my journey Northward. I will now give extracts from my diary of that year, which will present to my readers a better idea of the condition of the country at that time than any narrative I could write now:

CAIRO, ILL., Monday, April 22, 1861.

          Reached here this evening, and leave to-night for Chicago. Found secession flags flying as far as Columbus, Ky., and great excitement at the latter place, on account of the occupation of Cairo by the Yankee army. There are about a thousand troops here, mostly Dutch. They present a motley appearance. I have been much amused watching one flaxen-haired Teuton, dressed in coarse linen pants, a black cotton-velvet jacket, and red military cap, and wearing an enormous sabre, that keeps constantly dangling between his legs. He struts as though he bore upon his broad shoulders the weight of many empires.

CHICAGO, Tuesday, April 23.

          Reached Chicago about 9 A.M. Leaving my trunk at the railroad depot, I walked up into the city with my carpet-bag and shawl, until I had crossed the river, when I took one of the cars on the horse-railroad running up Clark street toward Lake View. Buying a morning paper, I was surprised to perceive how utterly demented the Northern people have become; but I was not even then prepared for the denouement of the day’s adventures. Reaching my residence, I found my faithful hired man, Jim, busily at work in the garden. Had he seen a ghost, he could not have been more astonished.

          "Begorra! Misther Hundley, an’ it’s coom back ye be? Och, be jabers ! I be sorry for ye!"

          "Why, how so, Jim?" I asked, surprised.

          "Och, begorra! an’ ye hiven’t been tould as how they’ve sworn to drag ye through the canawl, if ye iver coom back agin, bad luck to their bloody sowls!"

          And as Jim spoke, he shook his head of curly red hair, and his hot Irish blood seemed to boil within him. I ordered him to kindle me a fire, however, and began then to walk through the silent chambers of my own home, with an indescribable feeling of mournfulness. (Alas! I fear I shall never visit those deserted chambers again.) Bridget had kept every thing in perfect order, as much so as though Mrs. II. had been present. But I was grieved to see the flowerbeds neglected, and the gravel-walks not looking so clean and well cared for as heretofore. Ah! my little Maud and Edith, how plainly do I see you sporting on the lawn, with your little wagon loaded with shells and vari-colored pebbles; and now your little feet are pattering on the smooth beach, following after "Papa," laughing, oh! so merrily, making him forget with your sweet prattle all the vexatious cares and troubles of business, and the selfish, mammon-worshiping town! O God of heaven! now do I know that war, terrible, relentless war, is about visiting this land. But no more of this.

          After Jim had kindled me a fire, I took my seat in the library, and ate some cold lunch which I had in my carpet-bag. I then arranged all my private papers, and ordered Jim to go after my trunk; but he and Bridget besought me so earnestly not to remain at my own residence, for fear of the mob, I had my buggy brought out, and proceeded at once to the house of my friend——, where I am to-night. Jim has also brought my trunk here too.

* * * * * * * * * *

CHICAGO, Wednesday, April 24.

          Mr. James H. Rees, a prominent citizen of Chicago, and for a number of years my nearest neighbor, called on me this morning to notify me that I had been "spotted" by the Vigilance Committee of Chicago, and that it would not be safe for me to remain in the city twelve hours longer. He tells me the impression has been made on the committee that I left town last night. I presume he was the good friend who made that impression, in order to help me to escape. He thinks they will send me to Fort Lafayette if they find me, which is not a very flattering prospect, to say the least. He is evidently alarmed for my safety, and advises me to erase my name from my trunk, and try to escape from the city by private conveyance; for he assures me they have detectives on all the trains running from the city, and that I shall run great risk to attempt to leave on any of them. Being a strong Republican, this act of disinterested friendship on his part will never be forgotten by me.

* * * * * * * * * *

GALT HOUSE, LOUISVILLE, Thursday, April 25.

          Thank God! I am safe once more on Southern soil. I have run the gauntlet of vigilants and detectives, and have outwitted them all.

* * * * * * * * * *

GALT HOUSE; LOUISVILLE, Friday, April 26.

          My first business to-day; after a bath and change of clothes, has been the preparation of an address to the citizens of Kentucky on the momentous issues now presented for their decision. I am somewhat known in Kentucky, and I trust my appeal to Kentuckians will not be in vain. In my address, I have tried to convince them of the folly of their attempts to maintain a position of neutrality in a contest like this. My address will be published in the Courier.

          My address was published in the Courier, and was republished in many of the papers of the State. It made me hosts of friends. I remained in Louisville about two weeks, waiting to arrange my affairs in Chicago, and my diary of that two weeks is voluminous and extremely interesting, but I do not consider the present the fitting time for its publication. I am tempted, however, to favor my readers with the record of one day, as illustrative of the temper of the times.

GALT HOUSE, LOUISVILLE, Friday, May 3d.

          There is no credit to be put in telegrams now. To-day’s reports flatly contradict yesterday’s, and to-morrow’s will doubtless as flatly contradict to-day’s. It is cruel of the telegraph-operators so to play upon the feverish excitement which rules the public mind at this time. Every body is almost crazed to learn the news; and yet, when it is received; no one dares trust himself to place any confidence in the reports. Truly we are in a sad state.

          Meanwhile, to divert my mind, if possible, from the exciting events of the hour, I am looking about me, and, as Burns says, "takin’ notes."

          Louisville at this time is a busy place. Mr. Lincoln having forbade any commercial intercourse with the Confederate States, Louisville is now nearly the only city from which they can get needed supplies, and on this account I do not know but Kentucky’s neutrality will yet be of great service to the South. Hundreds and thousands are here, busily buying up all manner of supplies for the South, and sending the same to Nashville as fast as possible.

          Louisville is also the city of refuge for all Southerners driven out of the free North for the utterance of obnoxious sentiments, as well as of the resigned army and navy officers, seeking their way South to tender their services to the Southern Confederacy. The Galt House is full of these people—gay young students from the Northern colleges; talkative and argumentative professional men, whose political proclivities have gotten them into trouble; resigned Government clerks just from Washington; staid merchants who have been forced to give up all, and flee for their lives; and scores of military and naval men—young and old—who glory in the name of rebel in a cause like the one they have espoused, and who, over their champagne, tell of their numerous shifts and disguises to escape the Northern gens d’armes, while they drink, standing, toasts to the memory of George Washington, the first rebel. I doubt if the Galt House ever before presented so brilliant an aspect as it does at this time. After dark, the view in the main hall and the reading-rooms is very striking. Educated and brilliant men are collected about in squads, with here and there a gay uniform, discussing excitedly the events of the day, or listening breathlessly to the recital of his adventures by some fresh arrival from the dominions of King Abraham I.; while the sweet music of harp and violin, played by two Italians, who nightly take their seats in the main hall, floats in the air like "a thing of beauty," which, though unseen, still creates in the heart "a joy forever."

          And then the spies! Since Louisville is still looked upon as debatable ground, the North and the South both have their spies here. These men have little to say to any one, but are all eyes and ears, and nothing escapes them. I have been interested in watching and studying one of these fellows in particular—a stoop-shouldered, long-haired, long-bearded, and seedy-looking individual, of some thirty-five years of age, wearing the hat of a New-York Tribune reporter, and india-rubber overshoes on his feet all the time. This odd and suspicious-looking character rarely ever speaks to any one, but glides about like a shadow, and when you least expect to see him, you find him sitting at your elbow, apparently absorbed in reading, sometimes a newspaper and sometimes the City Directory, but evidently only making believe to read, while listening to whatever conversation is going on at the time. Why it is that he persists in wearing those horrible rubber shoes at all times, I can not tell, unless it is to enable him to creep up softly behind gentlemen who are engaged in confidential whispers, and so, like a thief, possess himself of other people’s property. He has a hang-dog look, too, this fellow, and if I am any reader of the human face divine, Master Greeley and Master Seward have been very happy in their selection of the right man for the right place. Judging from his looks and general appearance, I would say that he is a Free-Lover, an Abolitionist, an Agrarian, a Spiritualist, a Spy! "Marry and amen!" as Dogberry would say; and if there be any thing else that is mean, write this fellow down for that also.

* * * * * * * * * *

          After remaining in Louisville for two weeks, or until I had settled up my affairs in Chicago to my satisfaction, I hastened immediately to Alabama. I had just been a witness to the madness of the Northern public, and I was now about to learn something of the madness which ruled the Southern mind at that time. On the cars from Nashville to Decatur, I met with a Colonel Polk, of Middle Tennessee, a large, fine-looking representative of that notable family, who learning something of my history, entered into a conversation with me as to the condition of the country, etc. Conscious of my own integrity, and believing myself to be among friends, I expressed myself without reserve as to the hazard of a war with the powerful North, and was proceeding to give my reasons for the faith that was in me, when I was suddenly interrupted by a large, raw-boned six-footer who occupied the seat just in my rear, with the emphatic declaration:

          "That’s a lie, sir!"

          I turned to see whence came such an unprovoked and uncalled-for insult, and was surprised to perceive that it came from a Tennessee captain of volunteers, bearded, well-dressed, and possessing many of the marks of a man of breeding, but many more of the blackguard and the bully. I asked him politely if he had reference to me in the remark I had just heard.

          "Yes, by G—d!" was his fierce reply. "I haven’t any use for your sort. We don’t want any milk-and-cider fellows down here. I believe, by G—d, sir, you’re a d——d traitor."

          "Perhaps I may be," I answered calmly, "but at least I claim to be a gentleman, which you certainly are not."

          At this he became furious, and swore he was ready to fight me from the point of a needle to the mouth of a cannon. I replied quietly, that if he could find any gentleman who would consent to act as his second, we would get off at the next station and see the color of his metal.

          He thereupon immediately selected Colonel Polk, who was sitting beside me, as his second, for it seems they were close neighbors. Colonel Polk seemed to be ashamed of his neighbor, and prevailed upon him to accompany him into another car, and soon after returning alone, apologized for the conduct of his friend, saying that he was now under the influence of liquor, and that when sober he was much of a gentleman. He then begged of me to dismiss the whole subject from my mind, and returned to that bold captain of volunteers, whom he got off the train at the very first stopping-place; and that was the last that I ever saw of that valiant Hotspur.

          These incidents will serve to show to my readers the temper of the people, North and South, at the breaking out of hostilities. They will learn from the following pages how fierce a rebel I myself became before the close of hostilities.

          Since the end of the war, taking for my example the noble and spotless Robert E. Lee, I have endeavored faithfully to perform the humble duties of my private station "with malice toward none and charity for all." The better to enable me to present to after-times a faithful portraiture of the Era of Reconstruction, I have literally made myself one of the people, in their trials, their humiliations, their sufferings, and their poverty. I have not yet quite lost faith in God or in my fellow-men, and I do not hesitate to say, with blind old Milton, that we have indeed "fallen on evil days and evil tongues." These are the days of the success of wicked men, of small men, of mean men, of men who are lost to all sense of shame or regard for honor. Self-seeking, vain-glorious, time-serving, and corrupt men now fill places of the highest honor and trust, and bribery and gift-taking seem to have become the rule rather than the exception. As a natural consequence, the burdens of the people have been increased to such an extent, it will require but a few more feathers to break the camel’s back. If the war of subjugation was a stain on the fair page of American history, the unconstitutional and unwise acts of the Reconstruction Era have proved to be a yet more damning stain, the evils of which will survive long after the bones of those who fixed it there shall have mouldered into dust.

D. R. HUNDLEY.

PART FIRST.

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ON MY WAY TO JOHNSON'S ISLAND.

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MY CAPTURE.

          EVERY thing must have a beginning: to become a prisoner of war, one must first be captured. To be captured under almost any circumstances is exceedingly unpleasant, but to be captured unharmed, even though it be through no fault of your own, is one of the most humiliating of all the accidents of war. Once I was left in the hands of the enemy, after a day of bloody and glorious battle, wounded in two places, and one of my wounds supposed to be mortal (for which reason my friends did not remove me when forced to yield the field), and even then I was deeply pained at the unavoidable misfortune; how then shall I express my grief and humiliation at my subsequent capture, more than twelve months later, with a majority of my regiment, while doing picket duty in front of the division to which we belonged? I shall not attempt the ungracious task (for I feel that the labor would be vain), but proceed at once to give an account of the affair; which, while it was not in the least degree brilliant or over-creditable to any of the parties concerned, was yet the beginning of those personal experiences recorded in these pages, and as such is thought worthy of mention.

          When the campaign opened at Dalton, on the first day of May, 1864, the Thirty-first Alabama Infantry numbered over five hundred men for duty, most of them veterans, and all of them "in for the war." We belonged to Hood’s Corps, and were present at most of the engagements from Rocky Face Ridge to Kennesaw Mountain. It is not my purpose to speak of this remarkable campaign—one of the most remarkable indeed in the history of this war. I write these pages while a prisoner on Johnson’s Island, and of course I know not what causes induced President Davis to remove General Johnston from the command of that noble army; but I do know, and I feel that I am justified in saying as much, that no commander-in-chief was ever more trusted than was ours up to the time of my capture; and we were perfectly satisfied with his retreat, seeing the masterly manner in which it was conducted, and the invariable success which attended our arms in every encounter with the enemy.

          At New Hope Church, the major of my regiment was wounded, and the lieutenant-colonel having been absent for several months on sick leave, I had been for some time the only field officer present with the command. As a matter of course, after fifty days of marching, fighting, bivouacking, and constant exposure to wind and weather, we were all dirty, more or less ragged, bronzed, and blackened, but in the main in good spirits and health, hopeful of the future, and confident of victory over Sherman’s legions before the sere and yellow leaves of autumn should appear. We had been considerably reduced, however, in numbers, by losses in battle and from other causes, and, on the fifteenth day of June, numbered less than four hundred men for duty.

          Memorable day for us! Never can I forget the stirring events crowded into those brief twelve hours. It was one of the loveliest of the bright days of June, with a cloudless sky, and a soft west wind which rustled the forest leaves never so gently, tipping over the green fields of wheat with such a lightsome tread that the slightly waving grain reminded one of the ripples on some fair inland lake, whose smooth surface is scarce ruffled by the warm breath of the south. We had to picket the entire front of our division, and our picket line was fully a mile and a half in front of our main line (a very awkward and unfortunate position), in the middle of an extensive plantation, with here and there a wooded spot of a few acres, but everywhere neglected and straggling hedge-rows and patches of briers, with an occasional field of broomsedge and grass and weeds. The cultivated fields of wheat and oats and corn reached back fully half a mile in our rear, and extended a mile perhaps in the direction of the enemy, the ground being very broken, however, with a muddy brook coursing its zigzag way in our immediate front. There had been some pretty sharp skirmishing on this line the day before, and we felt assured we should have some warm work before night. I so informed both my brigade and division commanders, who visited me early in the morning, and to whom I pointed out the unfortunate position of our line. Even before these officers left, the enemy began to shell us, and, as the day advanced, getting new batteries into position, filled the air with spherical case, round shot, grape, canister, and all the other screaming and death-dealing missiles known to the artillery arm of the service. These tore up the ground all around us, covering us oftentimes with dirt and gravel, shattered what few trees were near us, and sent many a fence-rail splintered and hurtling about our heads, but otherwise did very little damage; on the contrary, afforded us much amusement, and were the occasion of many an impromptu jeu d’esprit, which would have done no little credit to the pages of a Punch or a Charivari. But meanwhile the Yankees were massing their troops in our immediate front in two lines of battle, with a heavy skirmish line in advance; and every indication seemed to evince a fixed determination on their part to charge us pretty soon. I so informed my division commander by a courier, and immediately hastened with the reserves to the right of the picket line, the captain in command there having sent me word that he was being hard pressed. But before reaching him, I heard the Federal huzzaing to the charge against the left of my line, which was the weakest and most exposed; whereupon I changed front and double-quicked the reserves in that direction. Unfortunately, there was a wood intervening between us and the pickets on this portion of the line—a mere patch of woodland, it is true, but filled with a dense undergrowth of bushes and saplings which prevented us from seeing twenty steps ahead in some places. The men dashed through these in gallant style, with orders to advance until they should come up with our pickets, who had received instructions to fall back slowly, fighting in retreat, in case they should be attacked by any large force; but we soon perceived that we were too late, the enemy having already captured the regiment on my left, picketing in front of General Stewart’s division, as well as the left of my own line, having charged on them impetuously with their lines of battle, and captured them before they could get out of the rifle-pits. Perceiving the danger of my position, with my whole left for the distance of half a mile entirely unprotected, I gave orders to fall back; but just as we emerged from the wood into the open field, a courier arrived with instructions for me to hold my position at all hazards, as General Hood intended to retake the line in front of General Stewart which had just been seized by the enemy. I felt convinced the struggle would be hopeless, unless reinforcements came up right speedily; but it is the soldier’s duty to obey, and I unhesitatingly gave the command to advance once more. The men dashed forward with a yell—that soul-stirring yell so peculiar to the Southern soldier; but in the wood we ran right upon the enemy, a whole brigade of them, cheering and huzzaing like so many devils. At this critical juncture, my acting adjutant informed me that no supports were anywhere in sight, that both my flanks had been turned, and that, unless a retreat was ordered immediately, I would inevitably be forced to sacrifice my whole command. As I had instructed him to make the necessary observations and report the facts of the situation to me, I felt that I must for once take the responsibility of giving to "all hazards" a very broad construction. Once more, the men were told to fall back, which they did in good order, until they got out of the brush and into the open field, when, perceiving that they were nearly surrounded, some little demoralization was manifested, and they began to scatter in confusion, which was not helped by the Yankees dashing in amongst them, shooting right and left, and bawling out to them to surrender. Sauve qui peut was now the watchword, and in reply to the demand to surrender, the poor fellows made the best of their way to the rear. Numbers of them were shot down as they ran; one gallant soldier, just at my elbow, receiving in his head the ball which was intended for his colonel from a Yankee not thirty steps distant. I heard the well-known thud as the leaden messenger struck him, and would have had him borne off the field had it been possible; but the litter-bearers had already been surrounded as they were bearing off a wounded man, one of them killed, one of them knocked down with the butt of a musket, and the rest captured. It was with a melancholy heartache I left him weltering in his blood and groaning in his death-agony. We ran across an open field for three hundred yards, exposed to the deadly fire of the enemy’s Spencer’s rifles, until we reached a little brook, bordered with a thick growth of weeds, briers, brush, and trees. Here I managed to get a portion of the command partially re-formed; but it was too late. The enemy dashed in upon us from all sides in overwhelming numbers, and captured in squads, of from two to a dozen, all who had not already effected their escape, or had not been either killed or wounded.

          So soon as it was ascertained that a colonel had been made a prisoner, I was ordered to be conducted to the head-quarters of General Logan, he being the commander of the Fifteenth Army Corps, to which my captors belonged. I was so utterly exhausted with the heat and exertions of the day, as well as depressed with a deep feeling of chagrin and disappointment, that I could scarcely walk. I was also seized with a violent headache, and my guard kindly permitted me to rest in the shade by the side of a gurgling, vine-embowered spring, and bathe my throbbing temples in its cooling waters. He was a fine specimen of the soldier, and professed to be a Democrat and opposed to the war. As he carried me through the hundreds of shirks and stragglers in the rear of the line of battle, he expressed his contempt for such imbeciles in language more emphatic than chaste, and declared that he had served three years in the army, and had never visited the rear before in the hour of battle. He had a good face, and was doubtless a brave and true man, and I regret to believe that Mr. Lincoln has sacrificed many thousands of such during the last four years.

          At General Logan’s head-quarters, I was received very courteously, notwithstanding I was very dirty, not having seen my baggage-wagon for nearly fifty days, during which time I had slept on the ground in my clothes, almost every night, and being besides begrimed with the dust and sweat and smoke of battle; thus affording a very painful contrast to the outside appearance of my captors. General Logan and staff rejoiced in the possession of very neat and well-kept wardrobes, with a superabundance of snow-white paper collars, and such a superfluous wealth of tents and immense star-spangled banners, as could not fail to provoke a smile from a ragged rebel like myself, who had been for three years at the front, and who felt convinced there was not at that time in General Johnston’s army, from the Commander-in-chief down, an unsoiled shirt or a yard of tent-cloth which could be made available under any circumstances, except for the use of quartermasters, commissaries, and surgeons. I did smile, and, smiling, called to mind Æsop’s fable of the starved wolf and sleek house-dog, and envied them not their rich uniforms, and clean linen, and other badges of slavery.

          When the hour for supper arrived, I was conducted to a table which groaned beneath the weight of chinaware and all delicate viands, while sleek and grinning contrabands, the stolen property of my unfortunate fellow-citizens, whose homes had been overrun, waited upon us obsequiously; one of them being a mulatto woman well dressed, with considerable embonpoint, and a look and mein which made me think of Miss Anna Dickinson and her new gospel of miscegenation, and wonder whether any of the well-dressed gentlemen around me had become practical advocates of that latest of the many isms of New-England origin. I said nothing, however, but proceeded to eat my supper in silence and with a heavy heart. Meanwhile thought was busy within me—thought painful and humiliating to a degree I can not express. Said I to myself with a sigh, as I took up a glass of delicious jelly, this was doubtless made by the fair hands of that young Southern girl who is now a refugee in the fair South, and whose aged father is dying of disease and insufficient food in a Northern dungeon, while the smoking ruins alone point out the spot where once her happy home—the seat of a noble and generous hospitality—gladdened her heart with the vernal bloom of orchard-trees, and the sweet fragrance of flowers, and a smooth green lawn, on which sported light-hearted children, black and white, all alike happy and beaming with the joyous insouciance and abandon of unrestrained juvenility. Yes; and this juicy chicken was stolen from that poor old lame widow whose log cabin reared its humble roof close by the foot of the mountain, and whose scanty store was eked out by the help of her poultry and her pigs; while her noble boys, who still remain (one of them fell at Manassas and another at Vicksburg), are absent in the service of their country, and can no longer be of any help to her in her declining years. This latter picture seemed to linger in my mind longer than the former. It would not leave me. Ay, it haunts me to this hour. In imagination, I seemed to see the blue-coated ruffians enter her lowly dwelling, filling it with their curses and jeers and libidinous jests, while they proceeded to rob her of her spoons, and plates, and knives and forks, to tear up her few coarse and ill-made dresses, to rip open her beds, to break in pieces and otherwise destroy her scanty furniture, to openly rob her of her pigs and her poultry, and, last of all, to drive her poor old gray head out into the shelterless woods, while they proceeded to apply the torch to that rude log cabin, her humble home. Alas! and this delicious milk and butter, too, were taken from the spring-house, a rude wooden structure which her eldest boy erected years ago over that bold spring flowing from under the huge moss-covered rock there, not distant two hundred yards from the homestead, and convenient to which were built the stable, and pig-sty, and cow-pen, whilst its gurgling waters in their winding course irrigated and made green the little meadow on which browsed in times of peace the solitary milch cow, and the one yoke of oxen, and the half dozen sheep, whose wool served to clothe the entire family. Why do I take the untasted glass from my lips and set it down on the table with a trembling hand? What means this gathering mist? Is it the deepening twilight which makes the darkness underneath these tall oaks so thick, I can no longer see distinctly the features of the smiling officer who sits opposite to me sipping his fragrant cup of Rio, and who begs me to eat more? Ah! no. The west is still red with the dying glories of the departing sun, and the dew not yet hangs upon the grass in the meadow, while but one solitary whippowil has dared to face the garish light of day, piping from a neighboring copse his melancholy note, which finds in one heart at least an answering echo of sadness. O thou sweet singer of Israel! how often has not thy noble verse been recalled by the weary captive, bringing him a melancholy comfort when his heart throbbed saddest within him!

"By the rivers of Babylon,
There we sat down, yea, we wept,
When we remembered Zion.
We hanged our harps upon the willows
In the midst thereof.
For there they that carried us away captive
Required of us a song;
And they that wasted us required of us mirth,
Saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.
How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem!
Let my right hand forget her cunning.
If I do not remember thee,
Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth;
If I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.
Remember, O Lord! the children of Edom
In the day of Jerusalem; who said,
Rase it, rase it, even to the foundation thereof.
O daughter of Babylon! who art to be destroyed;
Happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee
As thou hast served us. Happy shall he be,
That taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones."

          After supper, General Logan’s numerous staff gathered around me, and we had quite a spirited discussion in regard to the military situation in Georgia and Virginia, the fact that Grant had succeeded in crossing the James seeming to afford them the greatest satisfaction; for they were sincerely of the opinion that it was a surprise to General Lee, and could not credit my statement that it was just what our "rare Virginian" most desired. Having learned that I formerly resided in the city of Chicago, and had been all my life a States Rights Democrat, about one half of them were evidently inclined to regard me somewhat as an old acquaintance, for General Logan was at one time a trusted leader of the Illinois Democracy, and had selected his staff doubtless from among those friends who had been his former political associates and supporters. But some of them seemed to forget that I was a prisoner, and that, owing to the positions they filled, if for no other reason, they ought to demean themselves as gentlemen. One of these, a cadaverous-looking, sharp-nosed representative of the genuine down-East Yankee, declared, with many vulgar epithets and oaths (which respect for my readers forbids me to repeat here), that Jeff Davis was a traitor and tyrant, and deserved to be hanged. I endeavored to pay no heed to his vulgar and insulting language, but in vain; and equally vain were the protests, the winks, and the evident blushes of shame and manifestations of disgust on the part of his more courteous and well-bred companions. He was determined to have his say; he was determined that his rebel captive, whom the rough soldiers of the line had refrained from bayoneting (an instance of bravery and humanity his narrow creed forbade him to appreciate), should at all events not escape the keen point of his own malignant irony and sarcasm—names with which he evidently sought to dignify his vulgar vituperation of the South and her heroic defenders, as well as the coarse abolition Billingsgate which flowed in one continuous stream from a heart as black as the ebony idol of the Massachusetts miscegenators which he worshiped so devoutly. I bore with this fellow’s insults and blackguardism until patience was no longer a virtue; when, rising from the camp-chair on which I had been sitting, I remarked with some asperity of manner, "You will pardon me, sir, but the subject no longer admits of discussion. We wrangled over it through the public press, on the hustings, and in the halls of legislation, for more than thirty years; and at last were forced to submit it to the arbitrament of the sword. For one, I am willing to let the sword determine the dispute. I am now ready to be conducted to my quarters."

          Scarcely a word was murmured in reply, but I was courteously conducted to my resting-place for the night. It was in a wood not far distant. Here I found, huddled together into a space so small they could scarcely lie down comfortably, some three hundred officers and men, who had been captured during the day from various regiments. A large cable, fastened to stakes, encircled us round, on the outside of which walked the soldiers who guarded us. They all walked the same way, and the soldier whose post was number one bawled out when he reached either end of his walk, "Right-about!" which was the signal for all the guards on duty to right-about at the same time, and so prevent any chance of a prisoner’s crawling away unperceived. This was a wise precaution on the part of the enemy, and had it not been faithfully carried out, I think it more than probable some of those chafing rebels would have escaped before the next morning. As it was, the regular tramp, tramp of the soldiers’ feet, and the clock-like "Right-about!" of the master of ceremonies, convinced us all of the hopelessness of any attempt to regain our liberties.

          I had no blanket, and with a heavy heart, and a weary head, and wide-open eyelids which sleep refused to visit, lay down alongside of my men on the friendly bosom of mother earth, one of the most miserable and wretched of men. Time and time again, I would sit up and look around upon my companions (who, overcome by the exertions and excitements of the day, slept soundly), and sigh for that obliviousness of present troubles which "tired Nature’s sweet restorer" always brings to the unfortunate; but in vain. With a superabundance of caution, the officer of the guard had placed a sentinel inside the inclosure and within a few feet of my head; and whenever I got up, there was his black shadow resting on me, and the gleam of his bayonet almost in my very face, to remind me afresh of my helplessness and humiliation. What could I do? What else but to gaze up through the green leaves over my head, and dream—of what? Of the myriads of stars twinkling as beauteous as ever in the "blue serene"? Of Orion, and Arcturus, and the Pleiades? Of airy castles, wafted on the wings of gossamer, and tenanted by sylphs and other ethereal creatures of fairyland? Ah! no. In this leafy month of June, while the katydid sings his homely chant, and the mocking-bird and the nightingale make music for the "drowsy ear of night," the idlers and pleasure-seekers, those gay carpet-knights, who enjoy their dolce far niente beneath Italian skies, may indulge in romantic dreams and raptures at such an hour; but the ill-starred patriot, who lies bound upon his native heather, and sees himself hedged in on every side with glittering rows of steel, has but little taste for building such airy chateaux en Espagne—a labor better suited to happy hearts and uncorded hands. What, think you, dreamed Marion of as he lay shivering in his buckskin breeches beside his smouldering log-fire, in the swamps of the Carolinas, in the days of Seventy-six? What, do you imagine, is the waking dream of the poor exiled Pole, as he sits with his wife and little ones around the humble hearthstone of his cheerless hut in the far distant wilds of Siberia? O Fatherland, Fatherland! ever first in the affections of thy patriot sons—it is of thee! it is of thee! Even in his dungeon’s cell, the captive will dream of thee; and the patriot, who has once drawn his sword in thy defense, and in defense of Freedom’s cause, although he may be in exile, or a prisoner and in chains, with trusting heart lifts the vail of the future, and rejoices in the realization of his most cherished hopes. No clouds, however dark, obscure the sunlight of his vision, and no odds, however great, daunt his heroic resolves. The hearts of others may fail them, and the timid and time-serving may feel that God is ever on the side of the strong battalions; but he remembers Leonidas and William Tell, and, no matter how unpropitious present circumstances may be, he has an abiding faith that Truth and Justice will vindicate themselves in the end. But, even if the worst must happen, and the star of Polish liberty must go out in the night of Russian despotism, he can yet console himself, with blind old Homer:

"On valor’s side the odds of combat lie,
The brave live glorious, or lamented die;
The wretch who trembles in the field of fame
Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame.

CHAPTER SECOND.

_______

CHATTANOOGA.

          WE were started from the front for Chattanooga, on the day after our capture—three hundred and fifteen of us, all told, officers and men. We were put on board of box cars at Big Shanty—the officers in a car to themselves, and doubly guarded—after having been marched afoot about two miles, through the rear of the whole Yankee army, thus giving us a pretty clear idea of the condition of their commissary, quartermaster, and hospital arrangements; and I was constrained to acknowledge, with a painful consciousness of its truth, when I beheld their completeness even to the smallest detail, that in every thing else but fighting, the Yankees have greatly the advantage over our hard-pressed Confederacy. The cars seemed all to have been recently made, and were marked U. S. M. R. R—that is, United States Military Railroad; and I may observe, en passant, I found this to be the case on all the railroads in the territory which their armies have taken possession of. The railroad-track seemed to be in good condition, all the way from Big Shanty to Chattanooga, despite the operations of our cavalry in Sherman’s rear; and it seemed to me, also, to be very inefficiently guarded, and I could not restrain a sigh as I reflected on what might be done if we only had a Forrest in Georgia as well as in Mississippi.

          The guards who had charge of us belonged to the Eighth Missouri Regiment, which was recruited in St. Louis; and their three years having expired, they had refused to re-enlist, or "go veteran," as the Yankees expressed it, and were now on their way home to be mustered out of service. I found there was considerable excitement existing in the Federal army on this subject of "going veteran." The regiments which had gone veteran, while the troops were in winter quarters, stimulated thereto by the promise of furloughs and the assurance that it would take only thirty days of good weather in the spring to "‘crush out the Rebellion," like the fox in the fable whose tail had been cut off in a trap, were most anxious that all others should follow their example, and so make it the fashion; but I was assured that those soldiers whose terms of enlistment would soon expire, and who had seen enough already to convince them that the South was not yet on "its last legs," were almost unanimously opposed to reënlisting. Our guards evidently were, and spoke of Mr. Lincoln and the shoddyites, and other good citizens who stay at home and clamor for the last man and the last dollar to carry on the war, so long as only their "wife’s male blood relations" are led to the slaughter, in any thing else than flattering terms. They ware a hard-looking set, bronzed, weather-beaten, ragged, and dirty, "full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard," but; like all veteran soldiers, brave and generous, and courteous and even kindly in their deportment toward their prisoners. It has been my invariable experience during this war; that home guards, "hospital rats," militia, and those fanatical clergymen and mousing politicians who blow their little trumpets at a safe distance in the rear, egging on braver and better men to the bloody field of conflict, are always boldest in their insults to the defenseless captive, and loudest in their demands for raising the black flag. They know full well that their own worthless carcases will never be in any danger, and hence they insult the prisoner whom the fortunes of war have placed at their mercy with impunity, and would rejoice to see a skull and cross-bones become the emblem of the national honor. I met with one of these worthies on the train—a fellow calling himself Major Porter, although disconnected with the army in the field, but very active as a scavenger in the rear, or, more properly speaking, as a whining jackal feeding on the slain carcases of the lion, his master. He came up to me with considerable swagger, and boasted of his cotton speculations with loyal citizens in North Alabama last winter. He was so good as to tell me also that he had visited my father’s house frequently; that most of the old gentleman’s negroes had been taken from him; that his sheep, oxen, mules, etc., had been confiscated for the use of the army; that he and my brother and sister had been taken out of bed at the hour of midnight by a band of ruffians wearing the Federal uniform, and robbed of nearly a thousand dollars in gold; besides many other equally pleasant and agreeable items of information; and then had the cool impudence to ask me if I was not sorry I had taken up arms against the "old flag"? I did not knock him down, which would have been my most fitting reply, but I gave him such an answer that he slunk away like a whipped cur, and I saw him no more. I also met with a bold engineer of like kidney. I can hardly refrain from a smile even now, when I think of my interview with this latter specimen of the Yankee homo.

          The captain who had me in his particular charge was very kind, although a genuine New—Englander, as his face and speech indicated, and at different stopping-places asked me to get out and "air myself," which I was only too ready to do, with considerable relief to both mind and body, although I found myself at such times more attractive than a monkey-show in a small village, the blue coats gathering around me in one compact mass, and listening with mouths agape to every word I uttered. Partly to relieve me of this annoyance, and partly to have a little uninterrupted conversation with me about Chicago, St. Louis, and other Western cities, the captain invited me to take a seat with him on the cow-catcher of an engine attached to a train that was bound for the front, but which was for the time being standing still. After half an hour’s interchange of ideas upon subjects altogether foreign to the war, we got down on terra firma again, and I was proceeding to return to my box-car, when a huge, coarse, double-jointed, whisky-bloated, heavily-bearded, and black and grim-looking engineer, about "half seas over," stepped up to me and growled rather than said,

          "See yer, I say, neow—hic-—be yeou from Chicago?"

          "I once lived there," ‘was my reply.

          "Wall, see yer, I say neow—hic—dun’t yeon git onteu that ingine any more." A warning shake of the head with this growl.

          "Of course not, if you object," was my rejoinder.

          "Wall, see yer, I say neow—hic——I deu object—hic damnably !"

          I smiled; and assuring him that I should not give him any trouble in the future on account of his engine, I left him growling and still mumbling out curses in his drunken, bearish way. But I must give expression to a conviction which crossed my mind at the time, and which I have seen no reason to change upon reflection; and that was, that one of General Wheeler’s torpedoes exploded under a certain engine would rid the world of a very worthless as well as a very impudent rascal.

          When we reached Chattanooga, we had been for twenty-four hours without rations. We were immediately marched to the provost-marshal’s office, and kept standing in the hot sun and dust for about an hour, apparently for no other reason than to mortify our pride, and to weary our already famished bodies. At last a clean-shaved, cool-looking, smiling, red-faced young fellow, with the stiffest of paper collars—a sort of assistant provost-marshal with the rank of captain—made his appearance. This worthy regarded us for a while with a supercilious air, as thought he looked upon us as so many orang-outangs on exhibition, and we were then by his orders marched unceremoniously off to prison. I do not believe I ever entered before a more filthy den, filled with all manner of unclean animals, human and vermin, if I may be permitted to coin a word. I was informed that it already contained four hundred Yankees, mostly deserters, besides a hundred or so of citizens, suspected bushwhackers, rebel deserters, etc. I saw in the yard at the back of the building an Irish lieutenant from Savannah, who had deserted a few days before our capture with fifteen of his brother Irishmen; and who was reported to have told the Yankees how glad he was once more to find himself amongst "jintlemen," as he had not seen any such since he had belonged to the Southern army—the bloody Mickie! There was also confined in the same prison the Virginia captain belonging to Reynolds’ brigade, who deserted from his post on picket with twenty-nine of his men, some two weeks previous, and of whom and whose brobdignagian stories I had heard while at General Logan’s head-quarters. I was highly gratified to perceive that these worthies were appreciated at their real value by their new friends, who not only kept them under guard, but required of them to take the oath of allegiance at the same time, and informed them that they would ultimately be transported to the north bank of the Ohio River, and there released from arrest, with the distinct understanding, however, that the penalty for being found south of that river during the war would be death. It is seldom that such worthies receive their just deserts in this life; but I am encouraged to hope these will yet find, to quote a popular vulgarism, that "Jordan is a hard road to travel," before the close of their ignoble career.

          The room assigned to myself and brother officers was in the second story of the prison, a brick building fronting on the main street of the town, and formerly used as a store. This room was already nearly filled with citizens—parties arrested on a suspicion of being bushwhackers—and Yankees; among the last, a bald-headed, middle-aged doctor, whom I found to be a great Abolitionist, but whose negrophobia did not keep him from stealing, for he was arrested on a charge of embezzlement—to say nothing of filth, rats, and vermin. The vermin crawled about in the filth on the floor; the rats ran about squeaking and fighting in the holes in the walls, looking out upon us now and then from a crevice with a queer twinkle of their little round black eyes, and a significant sniff of the nose; while the human inmates walked about listlessly, or gathered together in little squads, and discussed Forrest’s late defeat of Sturges, wondering if he would not soon visit the rear of Sherman; or sat down on the floor, and leaned their backs against the walls, looking the very embodiment of hopeless despair. I looked about me for some time, in the vain expectation of finding some spot on which I could rest myself; but, after a careful survey of the whole room, I gave up the search in despair, and sat down with a sigh on a greasy window-sill, and contented myself with a study of the faces of my fellow-prisoners, and conjectures as to their previous histories. There were present about a dozen old, gray-headed citizens, most of them evidently very poor, plain, unsophisticated old farmers, clad in home-made suits of butternut, while two of them were cripples, and had to hobble on crutches. These harmless non-slaveholders had been arrested by General Sherman’s orders, and consigned to this miserable dungeon, without ever having had any charges whatever preferred against them, but simply because it was their misfortune to reside in that portion of the State of Georgia which his armies had overrun, and because he had resolved to take care of his rear, this being one of the methods by which he proposed to do it. Not only had he caused these inoffensive old men to be arrested and confined in this horrible place, leaving their wives and daughters at the mercy of his brutal soldiers, but in many instances their wives and daughters were arrested also, and were rudely thrust into cattle-cars, and transported north of the Ohio River, and there turned adrift, without money, without friends, utterly succorless and helpless, being emphatically strangers in a strange land. And later, indeed, upon the capture of Roswell, a small village near the Chattahoochee, the seat of a large cloth manufactory, this same General Sherman caused four hundred poor girls, employed therein as operatives, to be seized and sent off to Canada or elsewhere, for no other reason than because they might aid the South by their labor if allowed to remain. It is said that the tyrant George the Third declared his rebellious colonies ought not to be allowed to make even so much as a ten-penny nail; and doubtless Mr. Lincoln and his military satraps are of the same opinion as regards the "insurgents" in the Southern States. Such acts of wanton despotism as he and they are daily perpetrating can not be accounted for upon any other supposition, unless we believe them to be lost entirely to all sense of what is humane and just. Certain it is, however, that the present generation of Northern men, not excluding those who are really conservative, can not, or at least will not, understand how greatly they have placed themselves outside the pale of civilization by their conduct in this barbarous war for the subjugation or extermination of eight millions of the Anglo-Saxon race; it must be left to a later generation to acknowledge and to blush for the vandalism of their sires. Nothing is to be hoped from a people who will uphold and even applaud the acts of Butler the Beast, and that other kindred spirit who is reported to have said to an outraged Southern matron who asked him, Did he not fear God would punish him for his iniquitous conduct? "Madam, God Almighty’s overcoat would not make a vest for General Sherman."

          Some such thoughts as these must have been passing through my mind, and must, at the same time, have impressed upon my face an unusual honesty of expression, for one by one many of my fellow-prisoners, from the gray-haired old man who tottered as he walked, to the stout young guerilla, who still carried his arm in a sling from an unhealed wound, sought my companionship, and poured out their griefs confidingly into my listening ears. I am almost tempted to lay some of these family histories, so full of thrilling interest if narrated in a work of fiction, before my readers; but what would be the use? If they were exceptional instances of outrage and hardship, it might be well enough to record them here, as helping to show up in their true colors those boastful defenders of the "old flag," who, in the name of Liberty, have committed such damning deeds of infamy as would mantle with blushes of shame the crimson cheeks of villainy itself. But they are not exceptional. They are in perfect keeping with the barbarous acts of the Yankee invaders everywhere—in Virginia, in North-Carolina, in South-Carolina, in Florida, in Alabama and Mississippi, and west of the great Father of Waters. The civilized world, knowing only half the truth, has already set the seal of its condemnation on these acts; and it only remains for the impartial Muse of History to lift the vail which now conceals the other half, and, with a pen dipped in fire, to emblazon on her faithful record the ineffaceable words, VANDALS AND THE ENEMIES OF ALL FREE GOVERNMENT WERE THE SUPPORTERS OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN; and the just verdict will be approved and applauded by all the succeeding generations of men. Reader, I ask you to mark the prediction. It is just as inevitable as that day succeeds darkness—as that after a storm comes the peaceful calm. It is inevitable, because God is just, and rules even in the temporal affairs of men, however much our vain human philosophy may incline us to sneer at such a belief. There is more truth than many of us are willing to concede in the old French adage, "L’homme propose, Dieu dispose," Napoleon may put his trust in his veteran Iegions, in his strong battalions and his heavy guns, but a providential mist on the fatal morn of Waterloo, an unseen ditch into which his fierce dragoons hurled themselves headlong, with one or two other seemingly unimportant circumstances, are sufficient to send his hitherto invincible columns broken and flying back to Paris in utter rout and confusion, to overturn his imperial throne, and to imprison that autocratic mind, with all its boundless ambition, upon the bleak island of St. Helena, there to linger out a few miserable years of unspeakable remorse and vain regrets; and the grand emperor mingles at last his imperial dust with that of the island clowns, who tended their herds and flocks on the neighboring hills, and who never had known any higher ambition than to become successful raisers of sheep, or, maybe, to pipe on an oaten reed their simple loves—

"To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neaera’s hair."

          But I digress—revenons nous à nos moutons.

          When the hour for diner arrived, we were marched up in one rank to the dispenser of government rations, and had doled out to us two crackers each and a small bit of raw pickled pork, about as large as a hungry corn-field African would dispose of at one mouthful. Hunger is a good sauce, however, and as it was now twenty-four hours since we had begun our involuntary fast, we found our crackers and raw pork most palatable. Like Oliver Twist, we ate them up very quickly, and were loudly clamorous for more. But we were gruffly informed that our next feeding-time would be at the hour of breakfast next day. I now began gloomily to "realize the situation." With hunger gnawing at my stomach, and the shades of night fast approaching, and with them visions of huge gray rats gnawing at my toes and fingers, and vermin crawling all over my body, I was in any thing else than a pleasant frame of mind. It is said that all of us have more or less of the animal in our composition, and I am sure I must have felt just then something like a Bengal tiger feels when rudely disturbed in his lair. At that moment, I believe, I could have spoken such a philippic against the despotic abuse of power as would have wrung applause from Demosthenes himself. Unfortunately, however, for the future generation of village urchins ambitious of forensic renown, the auspicious moment was allowed to slip away unimproved, for just then an incident occurred which gave a new and different turn to my reflections.

          A crowd had gathered around the windows in the back part of the prison, and several voices called out to me earnestly to "come and see." Whereupon, I approached one of the windows, the crowd giving way so that I could have a fair view. The sun was just setting behind the rocky range of hills on the further side of the placid Tennessee, which rolled its yellow waters onward toward the Gulf as calmly and peacefully as in the days of old. The sunlit clouds along the whole western horizon cast a reflected mellow radiance over the town, giving a melancholy hue to forts, and frowning battlements, and zigzag rifle-pits, and the gleaming cannon, whose black muzzles could be seen peering through a hundred embrasures, presenting altogether a sad picture of war and desolation, as compared with the peaceful and smiling prospect which was presented to the gaze of two young persons, a happy bride and bridegroom, who stood, before this cruel war began, upon Point of Rocks on Lookout Mountain, one idle summer’s day, clasped hand in hand, and lost in admiration of the grand sweep of the quiet river which flowed beneath, and the limitless expanse of hill and dale, green fields and grassy meadows, with spiral wreaths of smoke arising here and there "from such rustic roofs," the happy homes of contentment and peace. And yet, in the midst of all this present desolation, there was a still darker shadow than the rest, and to this my attention was directed. I looked, and beheld a regiment of negro troops drawn up in line, and ready for dress parade! It was the first time I had ever witnessed such a spectacle, and I can not express the feelings which it awakened in my-breast. As it was evidently expected of me to say something, however, I made a few commonplace remarks, and turned away from the spot, lost in thought. I was almost like one walking in a dream. Even while I heard many voices around me heaping anathemas on the head of Abraham Lincoln, the walls of my prison seemed to fade away, the forms of my fellow-prisoners vanished into thin air, and I was carried back in the twinkling of an eye full three thousand years, and found myself wandering among the tall cedars of Lebanon, and listening to the burning words of Ezekiel, the inspired prophet of the Most High God. Why was this? Perhaps a few words will be sufficient to explain.

          Several years before the present war, Professor Baldwin, of Tennessee, published a book on the prophecies in the Bible, called, Armageddon, or the United States in Prophecy. In this work, the author sought to establish two propositions—namely, first, that the two witnesses of prophecy typify the correct principles of civil and religious freedom; and, second, that these witnesses (when driven into the wilderness by the dragon of arbitrary power) must find an asylum in the United States, except for the space of five or six years, during which time they are to be "slain, and their dead bodies to lie unburied in the streets," to quote the expressive language of Scripture. Mr. Baldwin was of opinion at that time, 1848, that this slaying of the two witnesses would be owing to the invasion of the United States by some autocratic power like Russia; and quoted, in proof of his convictions on this subject, the thirty-eighth and thirty-ninth chapters of the prophet Ezekiel. After the inauguration, however, on the part of Mr. Lincoln, of his war of subjugation, and the assumption by him of despotic authority, Mr. Baldwin became convinced of his error in looking for a foreign invasion; and in a speech before the Federal troops in Nashville, in 1862, declared his conviction that the North was typified by Gog, the invading power, while the South, as the champion of the two witnesses, was indeed the true Israel of God, and would, although destined to be desolated and laid waste, as the prophet had foretold, yet triumph in the end. For this bold utterance of his convictions of the truth, the reverend gentleman was cast into a cell of the Nashville penitentiary, where he was immured for a long while, and from which he was taken only to be transferred to a Northern dungeon, where, if I mistake not, he is still confined. This, however, is immaterial.

          I had read Mr. Baldwin’s book before the war, and upon reading an account of his discourse in Nashville, and his subsequent arrest and imprisonment, I remember I turned to chapters thirty-eight and thirty-nine of the prophet Ezekiel, and read them with much care and deliberation. This was in the summer of 1862, and I was at the time with my regiment among the mountains of East-Tennessee, under the command of General Kirby Smith. I remember also writing down in my journal at the time my conviction that, until the North should have "Ethiopia and Libya with them, all of them with shield and helmet," assisting in the invasion of the South, the prophecy could by no just law of interpretation be made applicable to the present conflict. In other words, it would be necessary, in order fully to identify the North as Gog, that Mr. Lincoln should manumit our African slaves, and put arms in their hands, and force them to become a part of the invading army. At that time, while McClellan was thundering at the gates of Richmond with an army of more than a hundred thousand men, the idea seemed utterly preposterous that the powerful North, with twenty millions of population, waging war upon the weak and friendless South with a white population of six millions, would so humiliate itself in the eyes of the world as to get down on its knees, in the strong language of Wendell Phillips, and beg the poor, oppressed, and despised Ethiopians to aid the defenders of the old flag in the suppression of the Rebellion!

          Two years had now passed since I had jotted down my private commentary on the prophecy of Ezekiel, there, resting as I was in the cool shadow of the Cumberland Mountains—two years of such barbarous and desolating invasion as the civilized world never saw before; for, in the figurative language of the prophet, it was said of this Gog, "Thou shalt ascend and come like a storm, thou shalt be like a cloud to cover the land, thou, and all thy bands, and many people with thee. Thus saith the Lord God; It shall also come to pass, that at the same time shall things come into thy mind, and thou shalt think an evil thought; and thou shalt say, I will go up to the land of unwalled villages; I will go to them that are at rest, that dwell safely, all of them dwelling without walls, and having neither bars nor gates, to take a spoil, and to take a prey." Two years, I repeat, had now passed away, and I stood once more on the soil of East-Tennessee, looking out through my prison-bars on the green declivities of some straggling spurs of the same Cumberland Mountains; when, lo! a black shadow rises up between me and the sunlight, and I see the "gridiron" flag of the invader of my country flapping its serpentine folds over the heads of a Corps d’Afrique, and the gleam of Federal bayonets, the muskets on which they are borne being in the hands of the sooty children of Africa, who are fighting for Mr. Lincoln and the subjugation of the South! Do you wonder now, my readers, I seemed to hear at that moment the voice of the prophet rolling down through the dusty corridors of thirty centuries, and, with the ringing clearness of a trumpet sounding the onset to battle, proclaiming, "ETHIOPIA AND LIBYA WITH THEM; ALL OF THEM WITH SHIELD AND HELMET"? I do not know whether I am more imaginative or impressionable than my fellow-men, but there are times when I can not answer truly whether I am "in the body or out of the body," and this was one of them. My brother officers who gazed with me upon that scene, beholding only the poor blacks with their blue uniforms and with arms in their hands, looked grim and savage; but I doubt if the whole western horizon, lit up as it then was with the golden sheen of the setting sun, appeared more radiant than did the face of the writer hereof. The beaming of a sublime faith, and hope, and trust was upon it; for I remembered the concluding words of the prophecy, and I doubted not their fulfillment was nigh at hand:

          "Therefore, thou son of man, prophesy against Gog, and say, Thus saith the Lord God; Behold, I am against thee, O Gog, the chief prince of Meshech and Tubal: and I will turn thee back, and leave but the sixth part of thee, and will cause thee to come up from the north parts, and will bring thee upon the mountains of Israel: and I will smite thy bow out of thy left hand, and will cause thine arrows to fall out of thy right hand. Thou shalt fall upon the mountains of Israel, thou, and all thy bands, and the people that is with thee: I will give thee unto the ravenous birds of every sort, and to the beasts of the field, to be devoured. Thou shalt fall upon the open field, for I have spoken it, saith the Lord God. . . . .

          "And it shall come to pass in that day, that I will give unto Gog a place there of graves in Israel, the valley of the passengers on the east of the sea; and it shall stop the noses of the passengers: and there shall they bury Gog and all his multitude, and they shall call it, The valley of Hamon-gog. And seven months shall the house of Israel be burying of them, that they may cleanse the land. Yea, all the people of the land shall bury them; and it shall be to them a renown the day that I shall be glorified, saith the Lord God. And they shall sever out men of continual employment, passing through the land, to bury with the passengers those that remain upon the face of the earth, to cleanse it: after the end of seven months shall they search. And the passengers that pass through the land, when any seeth a man’s bone, then shall he set up a sign by it, till the buriers have buried it in the valley of Hamon-gog. . . . .

          "And I will set my glory among the heathen, and all the heathen shall see my judgment that I have executed, and my hand that I have laid upon them. So the house of Israel shall know that I am the Lord their God from that day and forward."

          While I write these words, the whole Yankee nation are singing peans of victory over the fall of Atlanta, and the voice of all parties is for Union or War; but Jehovah hath spoken the word, and it will stand fast. The South will surely triumph in the end. She is fighting for the correct principles of civil and religious freedom, and panoplied thus in the armor of divine truth and justice, she never can be conquered. Courage, then, my Southern brothers! for on your resolute arms and hearts of steel hangs the destiny of millions yet unborn. The hope of the whole world now centres in your devastated but still proud and defiant Confederacy.

CHAPTER THIRD.

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NASHVILLE.

          OUR experience of prison life at Chattanooga had given us such a foretaste of what we might expect in the future, we—that is, twenty odd of us, all officers, from the States of Alabama, Tennessee, and Mississippi—determined to attempt an escape on our way to Nashville. We had been made acquainted with the fact that the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad was used exclusively to transport supplies and troops to the front, the empty trains returning via Huntsville and Athens, Ala., and Pulaski, Tenn.; and we were informed that it was customary to send the prisoners by this latter route also, and that such was the intention of the authorities in regard to us. We made our arrangements for escape accordingly. It was agreed, in order to allay suspicion, that, so soon as it became dark, we would all quietly retire—if lying down on the floor of our box-car, in an accumulation of filth, dirt, vermin, and tobacco-juice, to sleep, can be with propriety so denominated. Our plan of escape was very simple, but ought to have succeeded. At a given signal, we were to jump up, overpower the guard—the cars being in motion at the time—detach our car from the rest of the train by taking out the coupling-pin; and then with our prisoners take to the woods and make directly for the Tennessee River. We were told that we would reach Huntsville about 3 A.M., and we had resolved upon our little adventure being undertaken between Huntsville and Athens. Having been "raised" in that portion of Alabama and "section of country;" having fished in nearly every stream and mill-pond, and hunted foxes and deer through every brake and woodland for miles around, I felt assured I could safely pilot our party, in three hours, to the Tennessee River, from any portion of the railroad connecting the two places named. For which reason—although haunted with a lively remembrance of my prison-fare at Chattanooga, where the rats had the night previous paid their particular regards to the tail of my coat, notwithstanding I was sleeping in it at the time—I lay down to slumber, possessed with a very strong conviction that I should by the morrow’s dawn be a free man once more. I slept pretty well until we reached Stevenson. Here there was a long delay, and I awoke. The night was clear, and the guards could be plainly seen at the doors of the car, in the midst of whom sat the captain who had us in charge.

          "Well, captain," said I, raising up my head and resting on one elbow, "what is the matter now?"

          "Oh! nothing," was his laconic reply.

          He was a very gentlemanly fellow, this captain; and a shrewd one as well. He was a Kentuckian by birth, but a citizen of Indiana, and belonged to Colonel Streight’s regiment, with whom he had been captured near Rome, Ga., and with whom also he had managed to dig his way out of Libby Prison and to effect his escape to Washington City. He had already given me a very humorous account of his prison experience, of his daily encounters with the inevitable "grayback," as well as of his adventures after his escape; and I was strongly impressed with a conviction that to elude his Argus-eyed vigilance would require more than ordinary strategy. Consequently, I had been one of the most affable and agreeable of rebels in my intercourse with this richly-dressed captain, who had once worn rags and fared any thing else than sumptuously in the Richmond Castle of Indolence, intended for the quiet and repose of those Federal officers temporarily relieved of their commands by our "barefooted boys." When be was pleased to remind me, in a jocular manner, of the delightful experiences in store for me on Johnson’s Island, I answered him in the same spirit of badinage, and was as jocular as he dared to be. But, as the event proved, he was not deceived. He had not dug his way out of the Libby for nothing. Whether he intuitively divined our intentions, or overheard some word which aroused his suspicions, of course I can never know: I do know, however, we never got beyond Stevenson on our way to Huntsville. A train which had on it only privates passed by us and went on to Huntsville, but we were kept at Stevenson until broad daylight, when we were switched on to the Nashville road, and dashed away directly on to Nashville, via Murfreesboro. It was a sharp disappointment, made only the keener when I beheld the thousands of hundred days’ men guarding every mile of this road, and realized how hopeless would be any attempt to escape under the circumstances. We spent a miserable day, as can well be imagined. Without rations, without a hope of speedily regaining our liberties, we were forced to content ourselves with "chewing the cud of bitter fancies," while we surveyed the wide-spread desolation which had followed the footsteps of the invader all through this once garden-spot of Middle Tennessee. At times, I could scarcely refrain from shedding tears.

          It was some time after dark when we reached Nashville, hungry, weary, and utterly heart-sick; and in this condition we were hurried off immediately to prison, our Libby captain seeming to be greatly relieved at having brought us safely to the city, and never resting until he had turned us over to the provost-marshal. Our prison was a store-room in the basement floor of the new hotel building—which I found still uncompleted—a den even more foul and filthy than our room at Chattanooga. It was entirely bare of furniture, save a barrel in one corner which served the purpose of a sink, and which filled the room with a horrible effluvia—and had only one door leading into it, and that was guarded by two hirelings, natives of the Emerald Isle, but now clothed in the uniform of United States soldiers. Hitherto we had been guarded by veterans, men who had figured more than once at the front, and who consequently knew how to respect an unfortunate enemy become by the accidents of war a prisoner; we felt that we were now in the hands of the provost-marshal, and henceforth at the mercy of hundred days’ men and gallant home-guards, who had never heard the whiz of a minie-ball or the bursting of a shell, and from whom, as a natural consequence, we expected nothing but taunts and overbearing insolence. It did not take us long to ascertain that we were quite right in our conjectures; for, happening to approach too close to one of the worthy guardians of the door, to my utter dismay he brought his musket to a charge, and dashed at me with such ferocity that I began instantly to execute a "brilliant flank movement," which I followed up by a rapid and successful "change of base," notwithstanding the energy opened upon my retreating column all his batteries of Billingsgate and brogue, to the no small demoralization of my forces. I believe it is conceded, however, that a good general is often forced to retreat, but that he never capitulates unless driven to extremities. So soon as I ascertained that my "rear" was out of danger, I about-faced and once more returned to the charge. This time I determined to carry the war into Africa, or rather into Ireland. Knowing the national weakness of those who hail from the "Gem of the Say," I began very earnestly to assure my enemy that he had given me quite a new and hitherto untried sensation; that having had to deal heretofore with the braver and better portion of the United States forces, the battle-scarred veterans of a hundred fights (who always treat the unarmed and defenseless with a becoming kindness), I was now glad of an opportunity to meet with those gallant defenders of the old flag, whose heroic duty it is to remain at a safe distance in the rear and wage war upon prisoners, defenseless old men, and women and children. This mode of unlooked-for attack was worse than a masked battery to the poor fellow. Every word I uttered seemed to strike him with the force of a twelve-pound Napoleon. He almost gasped for breath, and I soon perceived that he was ready to hang out the white flag and to surrender at discretion. But I did not give him an opportunity. Turning on my heel contemptuously, I returned to the back part of the prison, and lay down on the hard and dirty floor alongside of my companions. This was to the unfortunate Hibernian the unkindest cut of all. He said nothing for some time, but walked his post very rapidly, evidently at a loss what to do. At last he suddenly quit the door, and walked right into the midst of us, the best-natured fellow and the worst-whipped Irishman I ever saw. We now fared well comparatively—had an abundance of bread and meat for supper, and a big bowl of clear water each; after having partaken freely of which, I lay down on my hard and pillowless couch, and soon, in spite of vermin and filth and heart-sickness, "tired Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep," once more visited my heavy eyelids, and I slept soundly until the next morning.

          So soon as we had partaken of breakfast, we were marched to the office of the provost-marshal. I was invited into that dignitary’s private sanctum, politely offered a drink of whisky, and asked to take a seat, upon which I requested permission to address a note to a wealthy citizen of the place, informing him of my being there, and of the condition of my wardrobe. This request was denied me, but the assistant provost-marshal very courteously offered to write the note for me, observing that my friend would be permitted to send me either clothing or money, provided it was sent through his hands. I then asked if it would be allowed me to speak to any citizen of the place. He replied that it was altogether impossible. No prisoner of late was allowed any such privilege. Feeling convinced that he was acting under orders, I said no more. But it was apparent to the dullest observer that the provost-marshal and all the other local military authorities felt that the sword of Damocles was hanging over their heads, and the very name of Forrest was sufficient to make them turn pale and tremble in their boots. The recent operations of that bold cavalryman in Mississippi and elsewhere seemed to have inspired the whole Yankee army with a most exalted opinion of his invincible prowess; and his ubiquitous presence was dreaded along the whole line of railroad from Louisville to Kennesaw Mountain.

          From the provost-marshal’s office, we were marched to the Capital, for what reason I never could ascertain; unless it was to let us see how mildly the low-born traitor, Andy Johnson, rules the conquered State of Tennessee, surrounded by his armed janizaries, whose clanking sabres and jingling spurs, as they strode over the marble floors of the noble building, together with the sentries’ gleaming bayonets, which seemed to fill all the halls and antechambers, reminded one of the dark days of the middle ages, when war was the pastime of kings and princes, and the sword the only power recognized in a state. From the audience-chamber of such a military satrap, we were very properly marched off directly to the penitentiary, on our way thither passing through the most populous part of the city. This was one of the most painful and humiliating experiences of my life.

          During the winter of 1861–2, I had been detached from my command at Bowling Green, by order of General A. S. Johnston, and stationed in Nashville as mustering and inspecting officer; and this was my first visit to the place since its evacuation by our forces. Most of its streets were familiar to me, and many of the faces of its citizens; but how sadly had every thing changed during the short space of two years! The houses, it is true, were still there, and the same public thoroughfares, but it was Nashville—the Nashville of other days—no more! Its old life was gone, its warm Southern heart had ceased to beat, and one beheld now only its galvanized corpse, making believe that it still breathed and moved and had a continued being—a ghastly spectacle, ten thousand times more horrible to contemplate than would have been the ashes of its funeral-pyre, and a simple monumental stone marking the spot where once it stood, with these words engraved thereon, Illium fuit. Insolent contrabands and overbearing soldiers everywhere rudely elbowed and jostled the conquered citizens, who, with bowed heads and bated breath, seemed to glide along the silent streets like mournful spectres, the ghosts merely of their former selves. They were not allowed to come near us or to speak to us even; but, in spite of the quadruple rows of guards, we sometimes passed near enough to many noble and true-hearted women to hear their fervent "God bless you, our noble boys!" which brought tears to many an eye long unused to weeping; while an occasional furtive glance from gray-haired old citizens seemed to tell with an eloquence more powerful than words could express, that, in the midst of all this stagnation and death, there was still left some hearty "life in the old land yet."

          Upon being marched into the yard of the penitentiary, the first sound which greeted our ears was the not very euphonious salutation, "Fresh fish!" bawled out most stentoriously by several hundred Yankees confined therein, about as hard-looking a set of rascals and cut-throats as ever were gathered together into one place. The whole yard seemed to be filled with them, and I was informed that Mr. Lincoln had as many as eight hundred of his Union soldiers under arrest in the city of Nashville alone. The cry of "Fresh fish" reminded me of stories I had heard in connection therewith, and I looked about me in some apprehension, not knowing how soon I would find myself set upon by my newfound acquaintances and soundly pummeled and robbed. Luckily, however, I was marched off directly to my cell; and solid walls of stone soon shut me out from the light of day, as well as from the rough handling of Yankee thieves, bounty-jumpers, deserters, shoulder-hitters, pickpockets, murderers, et id omne genus. I was at least safe from bodily harm; but how shall I describe that horrible, stifling, prison odor, which now filled my nostrils and seemed almost to take away my breath? I can not do it. It reminded me of graves, and moldering coffins, and dead men’s bones. Damp and fetid and icy cold, the stone walls, and the stone floor, and the rusty iron gratings of the little windows, seemed all to be reeking with the horrible effluvia; and I shuddered when I thought of a human being doomed to such a living tomb. And yet, alas! in this very penitentiary have been immured, during this cruel and wicked war, some of the noblest men and women who ever adorned this or any other age. And for what? Simply for conscience’ sake, and because they preferred death to political bondage, and exile and imprisonment to the sacrifice of honor or the abandonment of principle! And by whose order? By the unconstitutional edicts of Abraham Lincoln, the vulgar jester, the shame of his own people, and a disgrace to the age in which he lives. Ah! yes; and would to God this prison were the only one in the country which has been made subservient to the base tyrant’s despotism. But it is not, alas! No, no! The heart is appalled, though forced to acknowledge, that William H. Seward, the smiling Mephistopheles of Mr. Lincoln’s Cabinet, made no idle boast when he informed the English Minister, that, by simply touching a little bell, he could consign any enemy, or even suspected enemy of the government to any of the many bastiles in the land, without further process of law, and keep him or her there forever, in defiance of habeas corpus or the right to be tried by a jury of their peers. Henceforth, let no man speak of Nero, or Caligula, or Timour the Tartar, in the same breath with Abraham Lincoln. While the former were great butchers and heartless brutes, they yet, even while soiling the imperial purple, did so with an imperial grace; but this latest of the enemies of the human species, with the gesture and grimace of a burnt-cork minstrel, whistles the tune of "Picayune Butler" as he rides over the thousands of bleeding corpses not yet cold on the bloody field of Antietam, and fills the Capital of his nation with vulgar jests and bar-room anecdotes, even while he immolates hundreds of thousands of brave hearts upon the reeking altars of the black idol he is determined shall be the God of his people’s worship. Yes, certainly, the bloody tyrants of the past must give place to this more cold-blooded despot and human butcher of to-day.

          Before leaving the penitentiary, the citizen who had been informed of my presence and the condition of my wardrobe sent me a handsome change of under-clothing, as well as a liberal supply of greenbacks. I was permitted to receive the former, but the money was turned over to the officer who was to take charge of me to Louisville, and I was informed that I would find it in the hands of the provost-marshal on my arrival there. We were then taken out of the penitentiary and started for the Louisville railroad. Our guards this time belonged to an Iowa regiment, and they had been in service for two years, but had never yet been to the front. They were splendid-looking holiday soldiers, with unsoiled uniforms, white gloves, and guns which glistened like silver. They appeared to have almost attained to perfection in the manual and the drill, but were evidently much more ornamental than useful. It was reported that they would soon be ordered to Big Shanty, and the very thought of it paled their ruddy cheeks with a fear and dismay they could not disguise. Too many of their friends had recently passed through Nashville, on their return march to their homes in the North, either maimed or disfigured for life, or else boxed up in their shrouds, bloated and ghastly corpses, to make such a prospect agreeable to these chivalrous Northerners. I am afraid some of our party took a malicious pleasure in playing upon the fears of the brave fellows, reminding them of the glory which awaited them upon the hitherto untried fields of Mars, whereon Iowa had always reaped her full share, as her decimated regiments bore witness, the mere skeletons of what they were three years before.

          One of them, in particular, a burly Englishman, who evidently regarded himself as one of the main props of the noble fabric of the Constitution and the Union, was exceedingly averse to the idea of ever getting any nearer to the front than he then was. He was very ingenious, too, in advancing reasons why his regiment, so well trained to doing provost duty, should never be ordered to do any thing else. "But hif, you see, it should hever come to the matter o’ that, why then, you see——" Beyond this, however, he could not get. The thought of a possible bullet in his brain, and no more beef for poor John Bull, was too appalling a subject for calm discussion. I much fear some of those dirty rebels proved a thorn in the poor fellow’s side; meanwhile I enjoyed in silence my quiet laugh at this ‘onest Hinglishman’s ‘orror of a harmy in the field.

          Upon reaching the railroad-depot, we were thrust without ceremony into rude cattle-cars, still reeking with filth and foul odors, the very remembrance of which almost makes me shudder. Hitherto we had borne with our hardships with little or no complaint, but this was the feather that broke the camel’s back. We demanded to know why, so many miles in the rear of their armies, we should be treated as cattle, when even at the front we had been shown something of the consideration due to men. We denounced our treatment as shameful and barbarous, and that, too, in no honeyed phrases. But if even rough rebel soldiers were constrained to complain of such usage, what shall I say of their forcing into such cattle-pens, fit only for the transportation of stock, and still foul with the ordure of horses and other quadrupeds, hundreds of helpless women and children, exiles from Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee, and hurrying them off in such indecent haste to the north bank of the Ohio River? It seems incredible, I know, that such an act of wanton barbarism could have been perpetrated in this age of civilization; and had I not been a witness of the sad spectacle, I might even yet doubt if such a thing were possible. It is a melancholy truth, however, that the same train which bore us to Louisville bore also fifty or a hundred women and children, who had been rudely torn from their humble but happy homes, to be thus summarily hurried off to the glorious and free North, where only misery and starvation awaited them.

          The classic story of Niobe weeping for her children, and the scriptural one of Rachel refusing to be comforted because her little ones were no more, always possessed for me a touching and mournful pathos; but I beheld on this occasion a sad picture of female grief, which, although not at all classic nor elegant, even in its outlines, awakened a tenderer chord in my heart than I have had touched for many a day. As the privates, all dirty and ragged, were being marched alongside of the platform on which those poor exiles stood, I looked up and saw standing, apart from the rest, one poor mother with an infant at the breast, looking on those noble fellows in silence, her matronly face agonized with an unspeakable sorrow, while the big tears coursed down her hollow, care-worn cheeks, like an April rain. She was clad in the coarsest homespun, her face was sallow and bronzed, her hands and feet large and coarse, and her hair unkempt; but, O my God! what a nobility of soul was expressed in that pitying look she bent upon those ragged rebel privates who were marching away to a Northern dungeon! Doubtless she once had a husband or a brother who wore the gray uniform of a rebel, and bore himself like a man where the leaden hail rained thickest, and the stirring battle-cry rang out from ten thousand fearless hearts, "Death or victory!" Doubtless she remembered at that moment how bravely he had died for his country—that country from which she was now being banished, and in parting from which she felt that she was parting with the sacred sod on which lay pillowed the beloved head and the faithful heart, once so dear to her, but now stilled for ever in the cold embraces of death. And, alas! at that moment, looking upon her brave, honest face, and reading there the history of her humble life and her native nobleness of soul, do you wonder that I turned aside with a sigh which sounded very much like a stifled sob, as I brushed away a not unwilling tear? Thank God, the lessons of the past four years have taught me that it is manly sometimes to weep, and I am not ashamed of homely, honest, manly, old-fashioned tears.

          While my mind was full of this weeping woman’s face, and my heart ennobled by having her image reflected on it, a little smirking, ambling-gaited youngster sidled up to the car in which I was standing (the guards, to my surprise, offering no objection), and accosted me with the freedom of an old acquaintance. He was from North-Alabama, and when I looked upon his ruddy cheeks and his physical man so evidently in the very heyday of youth and health, I could not refrain from asking him somewhat abruptly if he was not eighteen.

          "Oh! yes," he replied with a smirk.

          "Then, what are you doing here, young man?" I rejoined.

          "Oh! nothing—having a good time generally." But he blushed while he spoke, for he divined, and rightly, that I regarded him as a shirk.

          "You are having a good time with these Yankees, eh? I answered with some bitterness. "Well, sir, do you know I would much rather be here in this cattle-pen, dirty and ragged, and on my way to a Northern dungeon, than to enjoy such a good time as you and those like you are enjoying with the invaders of your homes?" I was too indignant to say more. The amiable young Southerner sneaked off into the crowd, and was soon lost to my sight. Until now, I had not observed the effect of our little colloquy upon the crowd, but looking around at this juncture, I saw many an old gray-head look up proudly, and many an honest Southron’s eyes suffused with tears. For had they not sons who were such as I was, and as those my fellow-prisoners? And were not their fathers prouder at that moment that their brave boys were in the army of the South doing yeoman’s service for their country, than they would have been to see them dangling, like this young imbecile, at the heels of a provost-guard, eager to take a new oath every day to save his filthy lucre from confiscation, or his worthless carcass from the grasp of the enrolling officer? Their eyes seemed to say as much with those earnest parting glances as the train moved off, bearing us speedily out of their sight.

          And as I looked back toward the conquered city, I could not help imagining to myself what a ringing shout would come from the breasts of those brave old Romans could Forrest only dash into their town some dusky morning, at the head of his invincible heroes, and in force sufficient to notify the Federal usurpers that the day of their tyranny and misrule was ended!

CHAPTER FOURTH.

______

LOUISVILLE.

          EVERY man who undertakes to give an account of adventures in which he has acted a part, be it ever so humble, must of necessity speak of himself more frequently than he would like. The Ego will make itself conspicuous, and however much we may be disposed to grumble thereat, the evil can not well be avoided. Says Bulwer, in his Caxtoniana, Essay XIV., "In a treatise on the circulating medium, or the comparative populousness of the ancient states, or some vexed point in political economy, statistics, moral science, etc., the author, even where his name gives to his opinions a recognized authority, must not distract your attention from his argument by attempts to engage your interest in himself. Directly opposed to this species of essay is that in which the writer does not profess to enforce any abstract proposition by sustained ratiocination, but rather pours forth to the reader, as he would to an intimate friend, his individual impressions and convictions, his sentiments, his fancies; not imposing on you a schoolman's doctrine, but imparting to you a companion's mind."

          I would have the reader keep this concluding thought before him all the while in reading these pages. Since I profess to relate my own experiences and not another man's, I shall endeavor to present facts as viewed from my own standpoint, regardless of the opinions or experiences of others, and anxious only not to confound facts with fanciful pictures of the imagination. There has already been published too much of fiction and falsehood in regard to the deplorable events of this wicked war, and the future will doubtless abound in romances without number, filled with the most improbable accounts of the men and women who figured in the Great Rebellion. And although some future Walter Scott will unquestionably arise in the course of time, whose faithful fancy will attempt to present the characters of this age as living realities to the generations who are to succeed us, still no fire of genius can ever light up the pages of fiction with aught that shall equal the thrilling incidents and stirring adventures which are the every-day occurrences of these times which "try the souls of men." And of a truth, nowhere else more than in Kentucky, the "dark and bloody ground" of the present as well as of the past, have we presented to us such startling contrasts of the lights and shadows of human character—on the one hand, the noblest heroism and the most self-sacrificing devotion to principle, and on the other the blackest perfidy, coupled with the meanest and most servile "crooking of the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning."

          To be forced to speak of Kentucky in the language of censure is to me a painful duty. Her citizens are no strangers to me, nor am I wholly unknown to them. When a boy, I labored through the odes of Horace and the Greek classics at one of her colleges, forming friendships which have not been forgotten since I have grown to man’s estate. These friendships were revived afresh during the summer of 1860, when, by invitation of the Faculty of Kentucky University, I delivered the Alumni address at the annual commencement of that institution. Again in May, 1861, after the fall of Fort Sumter, I found myself once more on the hospitable soil of "old Kentucky." This time I was a refugee from the North, having just escaped in disguise, and by the help of friends, from a Chicago Vigilance Committee. While the city of my adoption tendered me the hospitalities of Fort Lafayette, the city of Louisville stretched out to me the hand of welcome. At that time, her citizens had not bowed the knee to Baal. Filled with the enthusiasm of most young Southerners, and eager to see Kentucky stand side by side with her sister States of the South, I presumed to address her citizens, perhaps in the language of passion, but it has proven certainly to have been in the true words of prophecy. At that time, the Circe which lulled Kentuckians into a false and fatal serenity was the ill-advised doctrine of neutrality. I then clearly foresaw what must be the inevitable consequences of the time-serving policy advocated by Messrs. Guthrie, Prentice & Co., and I warned their fellow-citizens to beware of the specious promises of the rulers at Washington, and, above all, to fear the Greeks dona ferentes. But when I perceived that they disregarded the words of even such men as Buckner and Breckenridge, I became convinced that "Ephraim was joined to his idols," and that the evil they seemed most to dread–war on theft own–soil–would eventually overtake them, and then in its worst form, that of partisan or guerrilla warfare. This in the month of May, 1861.

          In the month of June, 1864, I returned to the city of Louisville once again. This time I came as a prisoner of war, taken with arms in my hands, and while fighting for the sacred right of self-government. A prisoner, I felt nevertheless that I was still a free man–no man’s man, nor the subservient tool of any despot, or party either, which is oftentimes but a hydra of despotism, with a hundred heads instead of one. In defense of a principle, I had of my own free will faced the deadly cannon’s mouth, after having for a like cause as voluntarily sacrificed my worldly goods; and in spite of my evil fortune, I felt that I could still hold up my head unabashed in the presence of my fellow-men. But, alas! what shall I say for Kentucky, once the occupant of so high a place of honor? Was she any longer a sovereign State? No. A conquered province even? No, no! What then? Why, a willing vassal to the abolition master who rules at Washington, holding up her hands of her own accord to be manacled, putting her feet voluntarily into the stocks prepared for them, and bending her once proud neck without a murmur, as the despot’s heel pressed it to the earth. And this was the finale of her cherished neutrality—that Trojan horse which she unwisely accepted of as a gift from her enemies, and which in the end proved to be the direful engine of mischief it was designed from the first it should be. O my countrymen! what a fall was here! Lives there a man deserving the name who would not rather have seen her towns and cities burned, her fields desolated, and her children in exile or in their graves, with her banner of State sovereignty still fluttering to the breeze, than to behold her prostrate in the dust as she now lies, an object of both pity and scorn? Yes, oh! a thousand times, yes! But it was not to be. She took counsel of her fears instead of her honor, and to save her material prosperity, surrendered her principles, only to be forced to acknowledge in the end that, by giving up the one she had insured the loss of the other—serving thus as a warning as well as an example to all future times. O Kentucky! eldest daughter of the Old Dominion, how degenerate and unworthy hast thou proven thyself to be! Virginia, although similarly situated, a Border State, surrounded on every side but one by enemies, after mature deliberation, and in the firm conviction that by so doing she doomed her own soil to become the theatre of a desolating war, calmly resolved, to quote the language of President Davis’s reply to Messrs. Jacques and Gilmore, that there are "some things worse than hanging or extermination," and proudly accepted of these in preference to dishonor. Like the gallant Swiss, Arnold Wilhenreidt, who, grasping as many of the Austrian spears as he could, and breaking their solid phalanx by receiving the jagged points into his own manly breast, expired shouting, "Make way for Liberty!" so this noble old mother of States, standing as it were between the North and the South, stretched out her heroic arms to the enemy, inviting all their darts to be hurled upon herself. We know that the brave Swiss did not sacrifice himself in vain; and, thank God! old Virginia did not offer herself as a sacrifice on the altar of freedom in vain. Daring to strike a manly blow for her own independence, she has not only made way for her own liberties and the liberties of her sister Southern States, but she has at the same time achieved for herself a renown as enduring and immortal as the stars.

          I say nothing at this time of the later and more complete degradation of Kentucky, to which I will have occasion to refer more than once in the progress of these pages. At the time of my arrival in Louisville, the handwriting had already appeared on the wall, foreshadowing the events which have since transpired. Spies and informers swarmed everywhere throughout the State—the proper heralds of that infamous military satrap who subsequently ruled her people with a rod of iron, usurping all authority, civil and military, and banishing from her borders all persons suspected even of sympathy with the South, without regard to age, sex, or condition. On the train which bore me from Nashville to Louisville, I made my first acquaintance with one of those miserable tools of despotism, a secret detective. He was permitted to enter the car, or cattle-pen, to speak correctly, which contained the rebel officers, and tried hard to make us believe him to be a Southern sympathizer. But villain was written on his dark and brutal countenance with such a legible hand, a school-boy not yet out of the copy-book of human nature could have read him correctly at a glance, even had we not felt assured that no friend of the South would ever have been allowed by the guards to approach us at all. He sought me out directly as the officer of highest rank, gave me his name and address on a little slip of paper, which he essayed to hand me as secretly as possible, making believe that he was very much afraid the guards would detect him in the act; and begged of me to write to him for any thing I might stand in need of while a prisoner on Johnson’s Island. With many meaning winks and nods, and an air of great mystery, he at last took his departure, and not a moment too soon, for my indignation and loathing for the vile reptile were fast getting the mastery over my cooler judgment.

          On reaching Louisville, we were straightway conducted to the military prison, which we found crowded, like the prison at Chattanooga and the penitentiary at Nashville, with hundreds of Yankee soldiers, most of them deserters. I was informed that there were as many as twelve hundred of these unfortunates in this military prisons of Louisville, and fully one hundred thousand altogether in the various bastiles throughout the dominions of the great Rail-splitter. We were thrust into a large room, filled with citizens of Kentucky arrested for disloyalty, bushwhackers, guerrillas Morgan’s men, and about as pretty a nest of informers and spies as could be found anywhere in France, Austria, or Russia. These latter afforded one fond of studying the darker phases of human character a curious as well as instructive lesson. They were about half a dozen in number, mostly young men, and native Kentuckians at that, and their rôle was the inevitable guerrilla. The military authorities of Louisville seemed to be suffering at that time from a very prolonged attack of guerrilla-on-the-brain, occasioned by the recent operations of John Morgan and numerous other partisans of less renown. Every man arrested within the limits of the State of Kentucky, be he soldier or citizen, was considered a guerrilla or bushwhacker; and hence these secret agents of the government assumed to be such, and, for any thing I know to the contrary, may really have acted as such; all, however, looking to the accomplishment of one end—the detection of those citizens who had taken up arms against the United States government without having at any time belonged to the Southern army. Those employed for this purpose in the military prison of Louisville were sharp fellows, and were well calculated to deceive even the most cautious and wary, judging from the numberless executions of guerrillas recently reported to have taken place in Kentucky. One of them, and their chief spokesman, a good-looking, impudent, voluble youngster, with a cunning eye, black hair, and a flowing goatee, boasted of having done many daring deeds; of having robbed stages on the highway; of having cut telegraph-wires and destroyed railroad-trains; of having shot scores of "blue devils," as he called the United States troops; and, above all, of having possessed a remarkable mare, fleeter than the wind, and a better leaper than the kangaroo, on whose back he always felt that he could escape with ease from any number of pursuers. Being at last cornered in the mountains, however, and finding it impossible for him to get away, he gave himself up voluntarily, claiming the privileges of the amnesty oath, which he professed the most eager willingness to take. Whereupon he was thrust into this prison, the military authorities not having yet decided whether he would be allowed to save himself from the gibbet by taking any number of oaths. He appeared to me to be enjoying himself amazingly well under the circumstances. His secession friends in Louisville (as he would have me believe) kept him supplied with an abundance of money, and every delicacy in the way of cakes, fruits, ices, fish, fresh meats, etc., while he himself kept the Yankee orderlies about the prison busy from morning until night, "running the blockade" with bottles of whisky stuffed into their boot-legs, and in the extracting of which from the said boot-legs he manifested the utmost concern lest he should be seen by the Yankee guard, who, I observed, made it a rule to be always looking in an opposite direction while such transfers were being made.

          This jolly, carousing, high-spirited young guerrilla, evidently the chief of the squad of detectives in the prison, was honored with the title of "Captain," and pretended to take a great liking to myself. He would have me to pronounce judgment upon the merits of his whisky, and to eat of his cakes and other delicacies, and very soon had made me acquainted with most of his particular friends. Among these was a fat, oily, smooth-spoken, red-haired fellow, who claimed to have been at one time a quartermaster in General Price’s army. With General Price’s consent, he had returned to Missouri, and taken the oath of allegiance to save his properly; he then removed to Louisville, where he had been for a long while doing secret service for the South, but suspicions being aroused against him, he had been lately arrested for disloyalty. He wore a citizen’s dress, claimed that George D. Prentice was his particular friend, and expressed his firm conviction that he would soon be released, especially since he was perfectly willing to take as many oaths as they "could shake at him," if necessary, to effect that end. He and the "Captain" both boasted that they regarded the obligations of an enforced oath as nothing, and laughed at the idea of the Yankees expecting they would keep them, after once they got out of the hands of the military authorities. As they warned me in the same breath to be very careful what I said, since the prison was full of Yankee spies, this reckless disregard of their own advice first led me to suspect that they were not what they professed to be. Another one of the "Captain’s" friends was a queer-looking chap who hailed from New-York, who was arrested nominally for cheating his government out of a hundred thousand dollars, and who boastingly confessed as much, alleging that he thought it no crime to steal from such a government. I regarded him as a very fitting companion for our Southern Captain, so eager to take the amnesty oath; and for General Price's jolly quartermaster, who had already taken the oath or allegiance to save his property, and who wanted to know of me privately whether or not I would like to take any kind of oath to save my real estate in Illinois; and for the rest of their worthy confrères, who were all par nobile fratrum.

          Satisfied in my own mind as to the real characters of these men, I resolved nevertheless to keep my own counsel and my suspicions to myself. Like Micawber, I waited patiently for something to turn up; but I determined they should know nothing from me which should in the least compromise any of my friends in Kentucky, one of whom, upon learning of my arrival and condition (despite the reigning terrorism which forbade fathers to visit their sons or sisters their brothers), sent me a valise containing a suit of clothes, with towels, stationery, etc. I spoke of him as a good Union man whom I had known before the war; but I saw them exchange significant glances when they asked me his name, and the ex-quartermaster remarked, with a very dry smile indeed, "Yes, he is one of the Colonel’s Lincoln friends." That valise and suit of clothes seemed to give them considerable annoyance, for, having put the clothes on, I assured them that, being now in citizen’s dress, I was prepared to make my escape from the cars on my way to Johnson’s Island. They did not seem to relish the idea in the least. To say truth, I had thought at one time of attempting such an escape, but as I found it impossible to get hold of my money sent me at Nashville (it being determined by the authorities to send it on to Johnson’s Island), I was now any thing else than sanguine of success in such an undertaking; and my chief object in speaking of it was to see what effect it would have upon my newly-found friends. Their evident disapprobation of the scheme convinced me more and more that my suspicions in regard to them were not without just cause.

          But in the main, they were a shrewd set of rascals, and played their parts well; and I trembled when I thought of the villainy they might accomplish, for it was apparent that their testimony in regard to the confessions of prisoners would be all-powerful before a Yankee court-martial. One poor young fellow was taken out to be shot while I was there, and the "Captain" went up to him hypocritically to condole with him upon his unhappy fate—shedding crocodile tears in sympathy with the manly drops which bedewed the young patriot’s cheek as he thought of mother and home and his early death, even while he held up his head proudly and assured us all that he intended to die like a man. Another one of their victims was a young Tennesseean, with the physical proportions of an Apollo and the bearing of a prince, whom they had induced to attempt an escape by cutting his way through the roof of the building; but no sooner did he get his head through the hole than he was fired at by the guard, narrowly escaping death, and being instantly afterward seized and heavily ironed. He was now permitted to walk about, but forced to wear his chains still day and night, the rattling of which grated very harshly on my ears. It did not take me long to find out that this was a favorite amusement of the detectives, partly to ascertain if any outbreak was being contemplated on the part of the prisoners, and partly to gratify their evil natures; and I was approached by them several times in a most mysterious manner, and assured in confidential whispers that the prison was very weakly guarded, and that it would be the easiest thing in the world for any man, possessed of sufficient boldness to attempt it, to make his escape. Not being as yet quite prepared to be shot down in cold blood, I resisted the syren voice of the tempter, and assured these new friends of mine who seemed to take so great an interest in my welfare, that I preferred waiting until I got on the cars again, when it would be much easier to give my guards the ship, and make my way to Canada. I spoke of this plan of escape with so much confidence, that, as the sequel proved, the detectives became really alarmed, believing doubtless that I belonged to the order of American Knights, or some other secret organization which they believed to exist among the peace men of the North, and the members of which they feared would help me to escape. They tried in various ways to ascertain whether I belonged to any such organization, and my reticence seemed only to confirm them in their belief that I did, although I had never in reality even heard of any organization of the kind save the Knights of the Golden Circle, a monstrous humbug, which exploded soon after the war began.

          One of their little stratagems to entrap me into some confession or admission which might be of service to them, was quite amusing. Soon after nightfall, a drunken soi-disant Copperhead from Jeffersonville was thrust into the prison, having been arrested, as the "Captain" informed me with much earnestness, for hurrahing for Jeff Davis. This unfortunate Copperhead claimed to be a Frenchman, and affected to be so much under the influence of liquor as to be almost unable to speak intelligibly. I noticed, however, that he very soon found out where I was seated, and managed to get as near me as possible, and began right away to swear most vehemently in broken English against Mr. Lincoln and the Abolitionists. I soon perceived also, from his accent, that he was no Frenchman; and, instantly suspecting his real character, I addressed him in the best French I was master of. This took him so greatly by surprise that he became sober in an instant, confessed that he was no Frenchman, and after that, feeling convinced evidently that Othello’s occupation was gone, he had nothing more to say, but lay down gloomily on the floor and pretended to sleep. His confederates were equally nonplussed, and asked me very mysteriously if I did not regard the new-comer with some suspicion. I told them very plainly that I did; and intimating a proper contempt for all such worthies, I lay down on a bench without a blanket or other covering, and slept, or at least tried to sleep, until morning.

          The following day, the "Captain" and his friends were even more attentive and obsequious than they had been the day before. They insisted that I should not go into the common prison dining-room, where the Yankee prisoners were allowed to eat at the first table, while the rebels had to eat at the second, each man being supplied with a tin cup of water, a slice of soft bread, and a bit of rotten yellow middling about as big as one’s thumb—the Yankees being furnished, in addition, at breakfast and supper, with coffee or tea, luxuries denied the Confederates altogether. My new friends would have me to eat with them, to which I reluctantly consented, not wishing them to believe that I suspected their real characters; but it was a great relief to me when the summons came for us to get ready to depart for Johnson’s Island. I felt a much deeper loathing and abhorrence for these human vermin than I had felt for the vile den at Chattanooga or the dungeon-walls of the Nashville penitentiary. It appeared to me that I had been confined an age with these human beasts; and I longed, with a yearning I can not express, once more to behold the blue vaulted heavens, once more to inhale the untainted atmosphere of the out-door world, and to gaze upon some green meadow, shimmering in the warm sunlight, with here and there honest-faced oxen and sheep grazing or lazily chewing the end. Even the dull profile of grunting swine rooting contentedly among the beds of clover would have afforded me an infinite relief, when contrasted with the faces of dishonesty and cunning and heartless hypocrisy which I had been forced to come into such intimate contact with during the past twenty-four hours.

          But, when we were marched out into the broad street, notwithstanding the sun shone gloriously and the air was laden with a sweet perfume from the neighboring flower-gardens, I beheld a sight more glorious than the sunshine, and far more beautiful to me at that hour than any flower whose sweetness was ever exhaled in town or country, in garden, field, or woodland. There sat in an open carriage one of Kentucky’s fair daughters, her lap full of pants and shirts, which she requested permission of the officer having us in charge to distribute among those of my fellow-prisoners who had not been so fortunate as to meet with friends. I never shall forget the sad, sweet smile with which that request was made, nor the gruff reply of the officer, who wore the shoulder-straps of a captain. He was at first disposed to refuse outright, but, being expostulated with, he finally yielded his consent with a growl. The dirty rebel officers immediately broke ranks and made for the carriage, when the Yankee captain became very angry, and ordered them back as gruffly as if they had been so many slaves, even raising his cane in a threatening manner, as though he would strike them in case of disobedience. This so touched the heart of our fair benefactress, she could scarcely refrain from weeping, as with a tremulous voice she besought her friends to remember they were prisoners, and to conduct themselves accordingly. Yes, we did remember at that moment most bitterly that we were prisoners, and it was well for that Yankee captain and those guards that such was the case. We read how in the old days of chivalry, mailed knights did battle right gallantly with lance and ax for a woman’s smile; but the true heroes of this war, more noble and knightly than the champions of the feudal ages, have most frequently drawn their swords to avenge the tears of the weaker sex. Even while I write these lines with no steady hand, I am thinking where now is the noble-hearted lady whom I beheld that bright June day in the streets of Louisville, dispensing her favors with such a winning grace and gentleness? In what dark dungeon has General Burbridge seen fit to confine her for the glory the of Union and the Constitution? To what foreign land has the bloody-minded and bloody-handed satrap of Abraham Lincoln banished her, fearing she might influence some loyal Kentuckian to vote against the great Rail-splitter in the approaching Presidential election? Alas, alas!

"Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer’s cloud,
Without our special wonder?"

          At the river, a friend met me, and at parting, managed to slip into may hand some greenbacks unperceived by the guard. On reaching the railroad depot in Jeffersonville, it was announced to us that we were too late for the afternoon train, and would consequently be detained until the night train. I have a suspicion that this was all prearranged; for we had not been sitting there long before our guards kindly permitted another Southern sympathizer to talk to us confidentially. As happened before, this man immediately sought me out, and began to insist upon my writing to him, giving me his address, and informing me that he could be of great service to me while in prison. The fellow had been drinking, and was just about drunk enough to be communicative, and the thought occurred to me to ascertain from him, if possible, something regarding the other worthies with whom I had recently come in contact. I asked him first if he knew the individual who had met me on the train on my way to Louisville, giving the name and address he had left with me.

          "Yes, I have met him," he replied, with a leer.

          "Is he not a secret detective?" I then asked.

          "Well, no," was his reply, somewhat hesitatingly. "He is what we call an independent—goes it on his own hook."

          "How is that?"

          "Why, you see, if he can find out any plots or that sort of thing worth selling, he takes his information to headquarters, and makes a good thing out of it."

          "Yes? Well, do you know—?" I continued, giving the name of the oily quartermaster, formerly of Price’s army, but lately of the Louisville military prison.

          "Oh! yes." But his drunken eyes had lost their leer, and he began to look uneasy.

          "And is he an independent too?"

          "Yes, he is an independent too—goes it on his own hook."

          "And do you know——?" I again asked, giving the name of the "Captain," former owner of such a wonderful mare.

          This question seemed to sober him. He answered with a dogged, sullen look, that he did not know him, and immediately got up and went away, much crestfallen.

          I was now convinced of the justness of my suspicions hitherto. The object of these men was evident. They wished to hold a correspondence with rebel prisoners of war under a pretense of being Southern sympathizers, for the purpose of procuring information which might lead to the arrest, banishment, or death of our true friends in Kentucky or elsewhere. While musing upon such a deplorable condition of affairs, and asking myself whether I was really in America or Austria, I saw a man in citizen’s dress step up and ask our Yankee captain something, whereupon the latter directly came and asked me to take a walk with him. We had not proceeded far when the citizen joined us, was introduced to me, avowed himself a brother of John Morgan, and said he lived but a mile or two out in the country; after which he insisted on my taking a friendly glass with him at a neighboring saloon, and at parting requested me to call and see him at his residence, should I ever pass through that portion of country again. Copperhead number two, said I to myself, thinking of the Frenchman of the night before; but to the captain I proposed to extend our walk, giving as an excuse that I wished to buy a pair of slippers, since I had on a very heavy pair of Wellington boots, which I knew would be very disagreeable for every-day wear in prison. We had not proceeded many squares, when who should I run up against but the queer-looking chap from New-York, who had been arrested for stealing one hundred thousand dollars from his government, and whom I had parted from in the Louisville prison, not one hour before! Ha! ha! I could scarcely refrain from laughing outright, but he slunk away without saying a word, and holding down his head as if to avoid my eyes. I wanted to ask him after the health of the "Captain," and the jolly quartermaster of easy conscience, and his other staunch friends, for I did not doubt but some of them were around waiting for me to elude my guard and walk over to Louisville in my citizen’s dress. He got away before I could speak to him, however, and so I quietly purchased my slippers, and returned to the depot, immersed in gloomy reflections. I could not help calling to mind the numbers of unsuspecting victims daily brought to grief by such pliant tools of despotism, and chafing because of my inability to do aught to warn the former of their danger, or to bring the latter to merited punishment. And this was my welcome to the soil of the free and enlightened North! I had quitted it three years before, pursued by detectives; and I now returned to it a prisoner of war, but pursued by detectives still.

PART SECOND.

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LIFE ON JOHNSON’S ISLAND.

____

THURSDAY, 23.

          UPON reaching Sandusky this afternoon, we were immediately marched on board the steamer Princess, which plies regularly between Sandusky and Johnson’s Island. The sun shone brightly, the lake was scarcely ruffled by a breath of wind, and being invited by my Yankee captain (who had become by this time very friendly and accommodating) to accompany him to the hurricane-deck, I had a splendid view of my present residence before reaching it. I can say with truth that distance lent an enchantment to the view, which my closer acquaintance with the island, although as yet but a few hours old, has totally dispelled. Upon landing, we were marched immediately to Colonel Hill’s quarters, in two separate squads—the officers from the Virginia army in one, and those from the army of Johnston in another. We were then divested of our money, and our names and rank and date of capture being taken down carefully in a book, we bade adieu to the outer world; the gate to the prison-yard swung open; we entered, our guards still on either side of us, and beheld some thousand or fifteen hundred brother rebels formed in line on either side of the walk over which we were soon to be conducted, many of them bawling out lustily, "Fresh fish!" It was a strange, sad sight, that crowd of badly-dressed, yellow-looking gentlemen, shouting out the slang salutation of convicts and felons to their unfortunate comrades, fresh from those fields of glory and noble daring on which most of themselves had played at one time no mean part. But I am in no humor to-night for moralizing.

          I have found a goodly number of friends here, for which I am selfishly thankful, since they have rescued me from Block 13, to which I was first conducted, and in which the inmates are all crowded together into four large rooms; while I now find myself an inmate of Room 13, Block 3, having for my bunk-fellow the adjutant of my regiment, who was captured in a charge over twelve months ago. Room 13 is fourteen by sixteen feet, with two windows, one door, six bunks, and nine occupants. Its furniture consists of the said bunks, one rough pine table, a chair, sundry boxes, two wooden benches, and an immense wooden spittoon filled with tobacco quids and saliva. On the table burns an oil lamp, by the light of which I have been enabled to make this inventory, despite the clouds of tobacco-smoke which fill the room. But I hear the bugle-call without, and the drums beating "Taps," and the cry rings from sentinel to sentinel, "Lights out!"

FRIDAY, 24.

          I have had abundant leisure to-day to see all my friends; to tell them for the ten thousandth time, that the South is all right; that Lee will defeat Grant, and "Old Joe" will in the end out-maneuver Sherman; and to look about me and see what kind of a place I find myself in this fourth year of the war, and which will doubtless (from present indications) wind up my career as a military man. In the first place, I find that nearly all the prisoners in this bull-pen, as they call it, have despaired of ever being exchanged, and I find their despondency on that subject has already fastened upon me. And, in the second place, I regard the said bull-pen as a most miserable den, and I already begin to feel a sympathy for all caged animals and other living creatures. Hereafter, I shall never visit a menagerie of wild beasts without a pang, and I shall be tempted even to deny my wife her pet canaries and mocking-birds and goldfinches, not forgetting poor Poll, the parrot. I shall not consent again to see the faithful watch-dog chained, let him bark and snap at whom he will.

          Johnson’s Island contains altogether about three hundred acres, fourteen of which are inclosed by a high wall fence of plank, the sentinels walking on a raised platform on the outside, which raises them from the waist up above the fence, and the rebels being confined within the inclosure. The number of prisoners so inclosed is about twenty-four hundred, two thousand of them officers, and the rest citizens, private soldiers, shirks, deserters, sutlers, and other camp-followers, who claimed to be officers when captured, hoping to fare better as such, and many of whom prefer to live in prison to being in the ranks of the Southern army, not a few of them having given themselves up in a most shameless manner. It is a great annoyance to honorable men to have to associate with such characters, and this constitutes not the least of the many hardships of this place.

          The main prison buildings are in two rows, six on either side—one, three, five, seven, nine, etc., on the right-hand side as you enter the south gate of the prison, and the even-numbered blocks on the left-hand side, in all twelve blocks, while Block 13 stands at the further end of the street the middle of the same and between Blocks 12 and 11. Block 5 is the hospital building. Blocks 1, 2, 3, and 4 were originally built for officers, and on the second floor are divided into rooms, the size of the one I occupy, while the basements are filled with cook-rooms, wash-rooms, dining-rooms, and a few rooms occupied by prisoners. The other blocks were built for our private soldiers, many of whom occupied them formerly, and are divided each into four large rooms, which are jammed pretty full of inmates, to say nothing of bunks, stools, stoves, plank chairs, benches, coarse pine tables, etc. We get our water from two wells in the main street, and from two pumps on the east side of the prison, connecting by pipes with the lake, which is distant there outside the prison-wall about thirty yards. The water of the wells seeps through the ground, and is impregnated with the filth of the sinks and the sewers, and the water from the lake is not much better, since it is from the harbor, in which twice a week two thousand rebels are permitted to bathe their bodies right over the mouths of the pipes which lead to the pumps. Every time the wind blows, the filth from the bottom of this harbor is stirred up; and, last winter, it is said that the Yankees took a malicious pleasure in emptying all the garbage and refuse of the prison there, although they could just as well have done so at any other place on the island. Besides, all the prison-sewers empty their contents into the lake at this place also. When I think of these things; when I look upon the pale, sallow faces of my friends in here, haggard with care and worn and weary-looking from lack of thought and excitement; when I see young men scarce turned of twenty with streaks of silver in their hair, and men in the prime of manhood grown completely bald in the last twelve months; when I learn that only five men have ever succeeded in escaping from the island, and that they exhausted all the stratagems known to the inmates of this horrid bull-pen; and when I consider, in addition, that I may have to remain here until the close of the war, I already begin to feel a prison languor creeping over me, and I think of Little Dorrit. And, while my heart is filled with a sadness I can not express, I have sat down and written a happy, cheerful letter to one who is dear to me, but far away in Dixie. This is one of the commonest of the many expedients resorted to here to dispel the gloom which hangs like a pall over this ill-fated spot; and I find it affords one a great relief to feel that he still has it in his power at least lighten the heavy burden of grief which must weigh upon the faithful hearts of the loved ones at home.

SATURDAY, 25.

          St. John’s Day. Seeing a large number of prisoners, each with his chair (these prison-chairs are quite a curiosity, being of the simplest construction, and made of solid plank), assembling together in front of Block 4, I was led by curiosity to the place of assemblage. I soon learned that it was intended to be a Masonic celebration in honor of St. John, and that we were to be favored with an address from Colonel Lewis, of Missouri. Colonel Lewis pretty soon made his appearance, and delivered a very feeling and eloquent address. I am no Mason, but it gave me a higher opinion of the order than I had hitherto entertained, when I learned from the speaker what Masonry had done for the prisoners on Johnson’s Island. It had caused the hospital to be made comfortable; had furnished nourishment and attention to the sick and wounded; and, when practicable, after doing all that could be done for the living, it had sent the bodies of deceased members of the mystic brotherhood to their friends; and, where no better could be done, had beautified and adorned their lowly graves, putting up neat head and foot boards of wood, with the name, rank, age, and date of death in each case plainly painted thereon. The Masons may well be pardoned for seeking a royal origin for their brotherhood among the fabulous legends of the dead past, when they can point to such evidences of usefulness and unselfish humanity in the living present; and while it may be well doubted whether St. John did or did not belong to their order, there can yet be no question but these kindly ministrations of theirs prove that they at least belong to the order of St. John, which is much more to their honor.

SUNDAY, 26.

          In spite of the warm weather and the horrible listlessness of this prison life, we were blessed with several sermons to-day, which were well attended. Colonel Lewis, of the Methodist Church, and who is also President of the Masonic Association, and Captain Mason, of the Christian Church, are the "chief speakers," although there are many others of less note. I am glad to perceive that the pure religion of Jesus Christ is honored here as well as everywhere else in the civilized world. I am informed that a great many officers have joined the Church since they came here, and l observe with much gratification that nearly all conduct themselves with becoming solemnity during divine services. It is said that such was not always the case. Last year, several faro-banks were in successful operation inside the prison, and not infrequently one could observe in the same block a devout assembly engaged in the worship of God, while not far off a crowd of gallant fellows fought "ye tiger." with unconquerable pertinacity, and such a profusion of blasphemous expletives as one would expect more properly to hear in the purlieus of the Five Points than from the lips of cultivated Southern gentlemen. But, if the truth must be told, there are a great many in this prison who are not Southern gentlemen, but who sail under false colors; and I do not wonder the death’s-head and cross-bones will appear at times, despite their efforts to keep the cross of St. Andrew flying from the mast-head. They are not officers even, and never were gentlemen, and numbers of them are thought to be spies, sent in here in the garb of prisoners, but whose real business is to keep Colonel Hill posted concerning the plots of those daring and restless spirits who can not remain quiet in confinement without making some effort to escape. These latter have undertaken to dig several tunnels of late, a la Morgan, but in every instance they have been betrayed before their labor was completed. They have attempted to scale the walls also by means of planks ladders, ropes, etc., but they have always found the sentinels on the lookout for them, except in one case when two officers attempted to escape together—one of them got over the wall, and, falling to the ground on the other side, complained, when the sentinel came up, that he was the corporal of the guard, and had hurt himself by falling from platform, and was believed, and limping off, waited for his comrade to follow him. But, in attempting to follow him, his fellow-prisoner was caught, and, suspicions being aroused, he, too, was taken into custody, and so this attempted escapade ended in failure like the rest. Mr. Lincoln, with the true instinct of a mean-spirited despot, has filled every nook and cranny of his extensive dominions with spies and informers, and it is hardly to be expected that he could so far forget himself as not to have them on Johnson’s Island. He has them here undoubtedly, both in the prison and out of the prison—in the prison, to watch the rebels, and out of the prison to watch Colonel Hill and his subordinates. It is said that not a letter is allowed to leave the island, written by rebel or Yankee, but it has first to be read and approved. These Northern people do not seem to be aware that, in attempting to free the negro, they have made slaves of themselves, but sooner or later they will awake to a consciousness of the fact. It is inevitable. There are too many true men in the North to patiently submit always to the espionage, the illegal arrests, the suppression of free speech, the interference with the freedom of elections, the destruction of the Constitution, and the suspension of the habeas corpus, for me to doubt for one moment what is to be the finale of this despotic usurpation of such autocratic authority by so vulgar and mean-spirited a wretch as Abraham Lincoln.

MONDAY, 27.

          I have been here long enough now to begin to understand the daily routine of our miserable existence here. Roll-call at 9 A.M. In each block there are two grand messes, denominated 1 and 2, and one Yankee lieutenant calls the rolls of both. The Yankees have nothing else to do with us during the remainder of the twenty-four hours. If Colonel Hill wishes to issue any orders, they are stuck upon the bulletin-board, the real newspaper of the prison. It stands in front of Block 3, and is visited during the day by almost every man in the bull pen who is not sick. Some day, when I have nothing else to do, I shall steal a copy of all the notices posted on this bulletin-board, and give them a place in this diary, to be preserved as a souvenir of my life on this island. Immediately after roll-call, the "Express" comes in, being usually a wagon heavily laden with boxes of clothing, eatables, etc., sent to the prisoners by relatives and sympathizing friends throughout the "loyal" States; and, of a truth, if it were not for these boxes of provisions, many of the prisoners here would die of scurvy or starvation, so insufficient are the rations furnished by the Yankee government. One Frank Burger, a low, squat-built Dutctman, who formerly lived in Richmond, and is said to be a deserter from the Southern army, superintends the delivery of the "Express," and is said to make a very handsome sum by peculation, by bribery, and by confiscating all the wines, brandies, etc., which are declared to be contraband articles. Frank confiscates these articles, and turns them over to Foster, the hospital steward, who brings them in privily, and sells them to those who will pay for them in greenbacks. He will not take the sutler's checks, for he would have redeem them outside, and that would cause questions to be asked which it would puzzle him to answer satisfactorily. The sutler is no other than Johnson, the owner of the island, and from whom it derives its name. Johnson is a genuine Yankee, but his business is carried on mostly by clerks, there being among these two or three rebel prisoners. The sutler's checks are used nearly altogether as currency inside the bull-pen, the money of the prisoners being retained outside, and these checks given instead thereof upon an order from Colonel Hill. Without the sutler’s establishment (from which we can supply ourselves with butter, vegetables, molasses, sugar, etc.) and the boxes received by express, we would find existence in this place upon our present rations almost insupportable. And yet there are hundreds of poor fellows in here who have no friends from whom to receive boxes or money, and who have eked out a miserable existence on government rations for more than twelve months. They look very lean and hollow, with shriveled yellow skins, and eyes dim and glazed with their long mental and bodily suffering. Their dress, too, is of the old-clothes order in the main, ragged, loose-fitting, dirty, and of all the colors of rainbow. These gallant and patriotic men, so clothed, can be seen roving about at all hours, looking like persons crazed, but more particularly during the hour preceding nightfall, when it seems that every body is on his legs trying to walk every body else. It makes my very heart ache to gaze on this sad spectacle day after day; and I begin to feel that I must find something to do to keep my thoughts busy, or I fear I will soon be as gray, and bald, and distraught as the rest of these haggard, restless, and unhappy rebels, who have become old residents of the place. Fortunately, we are not yet stinted in regard to our correspondence or the mails, which are received every day at 11 A.M. As we have nothing else to do here, unless we choose to labor of our own accord, we are very much like those citizens of Athens who are said to have spent their time in hearing and telling the news. At most other prisons in Yankeedom, newspapers are prohibited; but, owing to the fancied security of this prison, I presume, we are permitted to receive any papers we please. In my own mess are received the New-York Herald, Times, News, and World, as well as the Cincinnati Enquirer, Chicago Times, Cleveland Herald, Sandusky Register (which is received the same day it is published, and every day except Sunday), and others. From these papers, we gather very accurate information of all that is taking place in the North, and as they usually contain copious extracts from the Southern journals, we also have a pretty clear idea of all that is taking place in Dixie as well.

TUESDAY, 28.

          The news to-day is quite cheering. Gold in Wall street, the thermometer which best indicates the confidence of the Yankee in his government, has gone up in the last three weeks from 175 to 233, which is the ruling price for yesterday. This is a very hopeful sign.

          The sutler furnished me to-day a late copy of Harper’s Weekly, containing a full-length likeness of General Lee, taken from the London Illustrated News. It is also filled with numerous illustrations of the Rebellion, in all of which the Union forces are represented as most doughty sons of Mars, with all the pomp and circumstance of glorious war about them, while the rebels are made to figure very much like a mob of half-starved ragamuffins. Doubtless the Yankees think that this argues great superiority on their part, but the contrary is true; for after four years of bloody war, these glorious Union heroes are still kept at bay by the ragged rebels. But the most noteworthy thing about this soi-disant Journal of Civilization, is the radical change which has taken place in its editorial management. Four years ago, it was a very respectable literary weekly—conservative, frank, and catholic in its spirit. Now it is more radical than the New-York Tribune, worse abolition than William Lloyd Garrison, and is wholly devoted to the reëlection of Abraham Lincoln. I remember it published a picture in the days of John Brown, representing Governor Wise in the act of hanging Horace Greeley, the latter being made to figure as the trumpeter in the fable of Æsop; but now it goes beyond John Brown, and insists, not only upon the freedom of five millions of blacks, but the complete subjugation or extermination of eight millions of Anglo Saxons. And yet, in the same breath, it still harps upon the old delusion of the Yankee fanatics, and declares that only some three hundred thousand slaveholders have caused all the trouble of the last four years; and this, too, in face of the fact that two millions of Yankee soldiers have attempted in vain to put down those three hundred thousand "Southern oligarchs!" Of a truth, quem Deus vult perdere priusquam dementat.

WEDNESDAY, 29.

          Gold, 240.

          Grant has most signally failed in all his attempts in front of Petersburg; Sherman confesses to a defeat at Kennesaw Mountain; Hunter’s campaign is a total failure; and consequently gold goes up still higher in Wall street, and this bull-pen is to-day in splendid spirits. Every body seems to be full of life except those miserable shirks who were not captured in honorable warfare, and who have no sympathy with the struggle of a brave people for independence, and who secretly desire the defeat of the Southern arms. I see from the papers, too, that the peace party is rapidly gaining strength, and it is probable, by the time the Chicago Convention meets, it will be powerful enough to demand of the Democrats a peace platform, even should they accept of General McClellan as their standard-bearer, as now seems probable.

THURSDAY, 30.

          Although the news is very meagre, gold continues to go up, and greenbacks to go down. Yesterday, the former was quoted at 245. As the Fourth of July approaches without any great success to the Federal arms, the Yankee newspapers in the interest of the Administration are becoming very despondent. The nomination of A. Lincoln at Baltimore seems to be pretty generally deplored by the Republicans, and very few of their papers are giving him a hearty support. This may be owing to the fact that the opposition have not yet placed their candidates in the field; for poor Fremont (who parts his hair in the middle, and who is famous because he married Lizzie Benton) can hardly be considered as representing the opposition. The Cleveland Convention was simply a meeting of radical and impractical fools, discontented with the authorities at Washington, because these have not as yet reached to as great a degree of folly as themselves. Mr. Fremont may think he is a very troublesome fellow to the groaning ox who draws the car of State; but were it not for his buzzing, the ox would not know the poof fly had added his weight to his other burdens at all. The Chicago Convention will embody the real opposition to Mr. Lincoln's Administration. It is looked forward to with daily increasing interest. The Republicans evidently dread to contemplate its probable action, and the two wings of the Democracy—the one in favor of peace and the other of war—are each striving very hard to get the control of the Convention; but the leading spirits of both wings seem to regard the harmonious action of the Convention as necessary to success in the coming election; and no doubt is entertained but some compromise will be agreed upon which will be acceptable to both parties. It is to be hoped so at least.

JULY.

FRIDAY, 1.

Gold, 251.

          Last night it rained in torrents. As usual, under such circumstances, two discontented rebels attempted to escape by digging under the wall. They were caught in the act, right under one of the lamps (being the only place of shadow), and were taken to the guard-house outside, where they were kept all night in their wet garments shivering with cold. This morning they were brought back, looking very rueful and crestfallen. To salute them as "Fresh fish" (as some unconscionable fellows did) seemed not to add to their equanimity in the least. It was very wrong, indeed, for who would not endeavor to get away from such a place as this? I am thinking of making the endeavor myself. Captain McKibbin, who is the senior captain of my regiment, and who has been here over twelve months, has been busy for some time trying to bribe the driver the slop-cart to take us both out in his cart. "Barkis is willin'," and promises to dump us out on the island, just as he does his slops every day, leaving us afterward to shift for ourselves. There are modes of exit from this bull-pen more desirable, but I am willing to accept of even so unsavory a prospect as this holds out. I have been examining the island from the hospital with an opera-glass, and I think the chances are in favor of our hiding in the brush until nightfall, when we can make our escape by swimming to the little promontory not distant more than half a mile from the west side of the island. A few days now will decide whether our slop-man will stand by his bargain or not.

SATURDAY, 2.

          Mr. Chase has resigned! The Yankee papers are filled with nothing else at present, and the greatest despondency pervades the minds of the Northern people.

          The storm continued all last night, and we had a false alarm, which was the source of much amusement, and at the same time gave a splendid illustration of the base elements of Yankee character. We are guarded here at present by the Hoffman Battalion and a Dutch regiment. A soldier of the latter was on duty at Post No. 5. It is the custom for the sentinels to call out that "All is well" every hour during the night. This Dutchman was bawling in the midst of the storm, "Bost No. Fif, ten o’clock, and all ish goot!" when he heard a rat or something else running in the ditch near the wall, and which he imagined to be a prisoner trying to escape; and immediately bringing down his musket, he shouted in alarm, "No, Got tam! all ish no goot any more! Coom here, corboral, coom here!" The corporal came up and made him fire at the supposed rebel lying in the ditch, which brought the officer of the day on the scene, to whom the corporal reported that the rebel was already killed. This officer (Fluhart, as it is reported, the same who calls the roll of our block, and who is very appropriately nicknamed "Dog-face ") gallantly drew his pistol then and there, and fired twice at the supposed defunct rebel. A numerous guard was then marched into the prison, but upon a careful and thorough examination of the scene of conflict, it was ascertained that no rebel had been there at all, and that "mien frien’," the Dutch sentinel, had raised a false alarm. It served, however, to prove that there is at least one man on this island wearing a shoulder-strap who is at heart a cowardly villain, and is only saved from being a cold-blooded murderer by accident.

SUNDAY, 3.

          We have no Sandusky Daily Register on Sundays, and hence the "grape-vine" is very fruitful of rumors on such days. Sometimes a roll-caller has reported something—sometimes the news comes from a sentinel on the wall; and again the hospital steward, the inevitable Foster, with his basket of stolen wines and brandies, has brought in the luscious "grape;" but most frequently it is dropped mysteriously by some little bird in the air, who presently flies away and is never heard of more. To-day, the "grape" is that Sherman has been defeated by Johnston, and is in full retreat for Chattanooga. The bull-pen is full of this good news, and it is credited fully as much as if it had appeared in the morning newspaper. For one, knowing the disparity of numbers between the contending armies in that region, I can not lend an ear to the flattering tale. I trust it may be true, but I fear it is only a "grape" and nothing more.

          Our slop-cart man has become alarmed, and says he is afraid to comply with his agreement. But there is still a hope of escape. Captain McKibbin to-day initiated me into a secret organization which has for its object the surprise and capture of the island. As the Yankees may some day overhaul my papers and find this diary, I will not trust the particulars of this "conspiracy" to these pages even. I am inclined to believe the project not altogether a chimera. I have joined the organization as a "high private," for the offices have already been filled, and the leading spirits were selected before I came here. Major-General Trimble is at the head of it, and one of his cool judgment and tried courage is a fit commander-in-chief. While there is life there is hope, and I do not yet despair of liberty.

MONDAY, 4.

          The Gold Bill, as it is called, has been repealed, and gold has fallen in consequence to 237. Fessenden, of Maine, succeeds Chase as Secretary of the Treasury.

          The g-el-lorious FOURTH has come and gone once more! The Yankees on the island have had a grand time firing off cannon, parading with banners, boating, hurrahing, etc., with plenty of firecrackers, roman-candles, sky-rockets, and other such displays, to-night. But notwithstanding all their big guns and little guns, their music and banners, and notwithstanding the day has been one of the loveliest imaginable, there has been no genuine enthusiasm, no spontaneous outburst of patriotic rejoicing, as there used to be in the old days of peace and Union. There is nothing just now for the Yankees to rejoice over very much. Grant has failed to take Richmond as predicted; Sherman has failed to take Atlanta; Hunter has retreated in disgrace from Western Virginia; greenbacks are fast becoming worthless; the Rebellion is still uncrushed, and the "best government the world ever saw," after four years of superhuman effort to force an unwilling people to acknowledge the existence of an allegiance which they have cast off for ever, finds the Declaration of Independence on the present occasion very dull and unprofitable reading, to say the least of it. Alas! what a spectacle has been presented this day for the amazement and scorn of future ages! The desolators of peaceful and quiet homes celebrating the birthday of that Republic whose corner-stone was laid in the blood of a devoted band of patriots, who laid down their lives for the faith that all just governments should derive their powers from the consent of the governed! With equal propriety did the Holy Fathers of the Inquisition celebrate the birth of Christ, while they lighted up the Christmas holidays with grand autos da f’e!

TUESDAY, 5.

          We have had no news to-day, there having been no paper issued in Sandusky, and, as is usual under the circumstances, the prison has overflowed with the biggest kind of "grape."

          I grow more and more restless every day. I have pretty well come to the conclusion that the chances of escape are small indeed, and in consequence I must do something or other to occupy my time, or I will eventually lose my wits. I find there are a thousand things being done here which serve as a recreation, and to relieve one of the horrible ennui which so rapidly withers the ruddy cheek of youth in this place. Many devote themselves to making rings, breast-pins, watch-chains, etc., of gutta-percha, shells, gold and silver—some of these articles being really very handsome and very creditable as works of art; some make chairs, some shoes, some coats and pants; some cook, wash, black boots, clean up rooms, etc.; some study law, medicine, divinity, and the modern languages; whilst others do nothing but idle, or spend their time to no profit, reading trashy romances and books of kindred character. What I shall yet do, I am not fully determined. I am having a study-chair made of plank, after the prison fashion, but having a little writing-desk attached to one arm of it, and a place for my inkstand on the other. My room-mates laugh immoderately when I make mention of my chair, and of my resolves as to my future studies, alleging that I will soon tire of the former and forget the latter, and become in the end like the rest of the "old stagers" here, restless, discontented, unable to think on one subject any length of time, and altogether incapable of any continuous effort. Cela depend, as the French say. I think not; but nous verrons.

WEDNESDAY, 6.

Gold is going up again.

          The Yankees are certainly a very remarkable people. They are just now about half crazed over the affair of the Kearsarge and Alabama. The newspapers can not find capitals big enough to head their telegrams on the subject of the great naval victory. The preachers in their pulpits can not let the heroic Alabama rest in her watery grave, but must forget their priestly office to tickle the popular ear with eulogiums upon the national banner, and anathemas maranatha upon the unfortunate men who once sailed in the much-feared and far-famed "pirate." The politicians feel that they have a new theme on which to dilate, and are making the most of their opportunity; while the rhetoricians and lexicographers are equally busy quarreling about the proper pronunciation of the word Kearsarge, its origin, meaning, etc. Truly a great people and a great country! But, alas for human joys! in the midst of their frantic jubilations over the sinking of one poor privateer, comes an unexpected howl from Washington. The telegrams inform us that the "gray-jackets are over the border," and that Early and Mosby are once more on a grand rampage. The governors of New-York and Pennsylvania have called out twelve thousand men each for immediate service, "to repel invasion!" and to "protect Washington City!" And yet, in the same breath, the Republican politicians, priests, and people, all assure us that the Rebellion is on its last legs, that it will soon be crushed, and the like childish twaddle and nonsense! In spite of my contempt for such ill-timed puerilities, I can not but laugh at them notwithstanding.

THURSDAY, 7.

Gold, 260.

          The news to-day is full of interest. The Federal Congress has adjourned, after having repealed the "Commutation Clause," as it is called, which heretofore permitted drafted men to pay three hundred dollars in commutation of service in the field. Mr. Lincoln has also declared martial law in the whole State of Kentucky, and General Burbridge is now prepared to banish, shoot, hang, or otherwise dispose of any citizen of Kentucky whom any of his many thousand spies may report to him as deserving of such fate. It is the most humiliating spectacle of the whole war to behold a sovereign State manacled as Kentucky is manacled at present, with no hope of succor from friend or foe. And yet no just-minded man will refuse to acknowledge that she has richly deserved her fate for the halting and time-serving policy she has seen fit to pursue in this struggle. The bat of the fable over again. Such at least is the sentiment of this prison, and I find that the Kentuckians here, so far as my acquaintance extends, are loudest in their condemnation of the subserviency and slavish fears of the majority of their quondam fellow-citizens. It is to be hoped, however, that this last indignity offered to State Rights, culminating as it has done in the usurpation of all authority by the military authorities, will awaken even heretofore "loyal" Kentuckians to a sense of shame, and kindle in their breasts a thirst for vengeance strong enough and deep enough to move them on to deeds of heroic daring, which shall wipe out and for ever obliterate the damning record of the past four years. I hope so, even while I fear not.

FRIDAY, 8.

Gold, 273¼.

          The Maryland raid seems to have assumed vast proportions. Wall street never was in such a flutter before. It is evident that General Lee has outgeneraled Grant completely. The defeat of Hunter enabled Early to move directly on to Harper’s Ferry, and those of us penned up here on this bleak island have built as high and perhaps as impossible conjectures as to what may take place in the next few days as the alarmed and utterly confounded Yankees of the border themselves. For once, the prison is in an ecstasy of delight. It seems as though some kind fairy had visited this melancholy cavern of despair and made a glorious summer of the winter of our discontent. Three times three for Marse Robert and his invincible Barefooted Boys!

          I received a box to-day by express from some kind friend in Chicago, filled with "good things." Who the kind Samaritan is I know not, as I have as yet received no intimation of such a surprise being intended for me. But such surprises, I learn, are common here. The express comes loaded every day with boxes of provisions from sympathizing friends in the Northern and Border States. Fortunate is it for us that such is the case. If forced to live on government rations, we would all sooner or later die of scurvy, diarrhea, or kindred diseases. Salt pork, soft bread, and beans, in homeopathic quantities, with abundance of foul water, do not constitute a very nutritious diet. Some time ago, Asa Hartz wrote a poem, "But no one writes to me," which was published in the Northern papers, and, it is said, he has since received twelve boxes and fifty-nine letters from unknown friends and sympathizers.

SATURDAY, 9.

Gold, 268½.

          The great raid, as the Yankees called it, seems to have been only a great scare. New-York and Philadelphia both breathe free once more. They are now splitting their throats with huzzaing over the sinking of the Alabama, as if determined to make as much noise as possible, now they have gotten out of the woods into which Early’s threatened invasion drove them a few days past. They are certainly welcome to make themselves as foolish over the fate of that daring sea-rover as they have often done heretofore over a thousand other as insignificant victories.

* * * * * * * * * * *

SUNDAY, 10.

          My study-chair was completed yesterday, and to-morrow I must begin to study in earnest. I am fully persuaded the monotony and intolerable oppression of this prison life will kill me, if I do not find something which will enable me to forget in some degree that I am a miserable wretch, shut up in this horrible bull-pen, with over two thousand other wretches as miserable as myself. No man who has never been confined in a prison; fed on prison fare, forced to herd with his fellows like beasts in a stall, deprived of the gentle companionship and loving smiles of woman, and of the sweet prattle and innocent mirth of little children; insulted daily by brutish creatures with whom he would scorn to associate anywhere in the world; and, worse than all else, unable to see the least prospect of being speedily released—can fully realize, in all its deep significance, the fathomless abysses of misery expressed by that little word, PRISON. Henceforth I am a disciple of the benevolent Howard, and my creed opposes the incarceration of any fellow-being, unless his guilt is clearly proven, and the well-being of society demands his punishment.

MONDAY, 11.

          Once more we have glorious news from Maryland. Our troops are within seven miles of Baltimore. It seems, Early has returned once more, his retreat being a feint—met the enemy on the Monocacy, routed him, and captured one thousand prisoners. The telegrams now announce that Washington is in imminent danger, and a perfect panic pervades Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New-York. The prison is aflame with an enthusiasm greater than ever was felt here before. It is indescribable. Every body is smiling; every body is walking about in an ecstasy of joy; every body is praising the greatest captain of the age, "Old Marse Robert," as the soldiers of the Virginia army call him with respectful familiarity. Poor Grant! how we all do pity him! And Hunter, the house-bunter, the insulter of women, and the stout warrior who wages war upon puling infancy, where is he? These pigmy warriors, with the mighty Abe to help them, thought to cope with the "rare Virginian" in strategy, but they counted without their host. All that either one of them ever accomplished was accomplished by the mere force of brute numbers; and the fact that General Lee, with less than half the force of his adversary, has not only repulsed the fierce onslaughts of the latter with great slaughter from the Wilderness to Petersburg, but has now, with a contemptuous disdain of the doughty Unconditional Surrender Grant, moved a column under Early into Maryland, threatening Washington itself, proves that he regards his vaunted antagonist as incompetent to handle even a small army successfully, and only fit to lead a large one to its inevitable destruction, as he has the once-powerful Army of the Potomac. King Richard, in the play, is made to offer his kingdom for a horse, but King Abraham the First would doubtless give a pretty large portion of his dominions just now for a live general.

TUESDAY, 12.

Gold, 282½.

          The news from Maryland grows better and better. All the roads leading to Baltimore have been cut; Governor Bradford’s house burned in retaliation for the burning of Governor Letcher’s house by Hunter, and the consequence is, the whole North is in a terrible panic. And yet, in the midst of all this hubbub and fear and trembling, Mr. Lincoln takes occasion to show that he "still lives" by giving poor old Kentucky one more kick. It is hardly an exemplification of the fable of the lion and the ass; for the lion is neither old nor sick, but has quietly submitted to have his teeth and claws extracted, but the ass is true to the life. He has declared Governor Bramlette superseded by General Burbridge, a man without any moral character, and such a fitting tool as tyrants know only too well how to use. If Kentucky does not strike for her independence now, there is no hope for her, she is for ever lost to liberty, as well as to honor. In the future, there remain for her true sons and daughters only banishment, confiscation, and death, but bitterer than all else, the remembrance of the humiliation and shameful degradation of their native State. Already is her star blotted out of the blue of the old flag, and the stripes only are hers, and of these she every day receives more than her share. And she receives them, too, like a patient and penitent slave, bowing her head in meekness, licking the hand that smites her, and never once calling to mind that death is a thousand times preferable to dishonor. Poor, doomed, degraded, disfranchised Kentucky!

WEDNESDAY, 13.

          Washington threatened! Communication with the Capital cut off! Fighting within five miles of Baltimore! Reinforcements sent from Grant to defend the border, etc., etc., etc.! These are some of the startling announcements in to-day's paper. The North is frightened out of its propriety for once. At this moment, more apprehension is felt for the safety of Washington than ever was felt at any time in the South for the safety of Richmond. Our people are used to war’s alarms, and have learned how to face the grim- visaged monster with unblanched cheeks, but these people are scared at the veriest trifles, and their knees quake at the sight of shadows. By example, we had a rumor in the prison to-day that Early had captured Washington, and blown up the Capitol. It proved to be a grape of very large dimensions, but I went to the sutler to know if he had heard any thing of the report outside, and he was so frightened he could hardly speak. The very thought of such a possible calamity almost deprived him of breath.

          There is nothing authentic from Sherman, but it is reported that he has forced General Johnston to fall back across the Chattahoochee. This is regarded by some here as unfortunate, but I do not so regard it, knowing that such a move was in contemplation even before I was captured. What is to be the end of the Georgia campaign, of course no mortal ken can foresee, but I have such great confidence in General Johnston that I do not fear to leave the result with him. It is true I would prefer to see him reinforced, since he is evidently so greatly outnumbered, but that God in whom Sherman does not believe will yet convince even him that the strong battalions do not always conquer in the end.

THURSDAY, 14.

          The excitement about the great raid of Early continues unabated. According to some accounts, he has a hundred thousand men with him, while others claim that he has not over twelve thousand. The mystery of his movements seems to constitute one of the chief causes of the widespread panic. It is thought by some that the prisoners at Point Lookout are to be released, while others are just as confident that the whole movement is intended to capture Washington. There has already been some skirmishing in sight of the Yankee Capital. I am inclined to believe, however, that no real intention to capture either Washington or Baltimore ever was contemplated. It is simply a great raid to secure supplies, destroy railroads, raise the siege of Petersburg, maybe, and give our troops in the trenches there a little breathing-spell, and also to show to Messrs. Sheridan, Wilson, Hunter & Co. how to conduct a raid as is a raid. So far, taking only the Yankee accounts of it, the expedition has proven to be even more successful than the most sanguine Southern patriot could have hoped for two weeks ago. Grant’s great combinations for the capture of Richmond, of which so much has been said and written in Yankeedom for the past two months, have all failed; and not only so, but have resulted in positive disaster to himself and his cause, proving that he is altogether incompetent to cope with a master of the art of war like General Lee. And yet I do not for one moment entertain the least suspicion that Mr. Lincoln will remove his pertinacious but unfortunate Lieutenant-General. To do so would be to confess failure, and to confess failure in this summer’s campaign, on the eve of the presidential election, would be in his case to commit a political suicide. He will not do it.

FRIDAY, 15.

          The news this morning is not so exhilarating as it has been. Our troops are leaving Maryland; Sherman is across the Chattahoochee; the Bears have the upper hand in Wall street, and all Yankeedom is whistling the tune of "Yankee Doodle" in a frenzy of delight. I have been enraged all day to witness the effect of this news upon the inmates of this bull-pen who have been here longest. Perhaps I do them injustice, but it is quite evident their long imprisonment has enervated them to a degree hardly to be looked for in men who once bore themselves so proudly at the battle’s front. Some of the more intelligent of them have confessed as much to me, assuring me at the same time that after I have been here as long as they have, I, too, will be as easily demoralized as they. It may be so. I am not such an egotist as to deny that I am as frail as my fellows. Hope deferred, I know, ever maketh the heart sick, and has not their hope been deferred for now more than twelve long months? They feel that nothing will ever deliver them from this prison but Southern success; and when they declare that they never expect to be exchanged, do they not express thereby a doubt of the ultimate triumph of our arms? So I reason; but it may be they give utterance simply to their spleen and their disappointed expectations. Yesterday, hope was in the ascendant, and they confidently looked for the fall of Washington, and even Baltimore and Philadelphia. To-day, despondency rules the hour, and they would not be surprised to hear of the fall of Atlanta, of Petersburg, or even of Richmond. Pardonnez-moi, Messieurs, but you deceive yourselves. You would be surprised, all of you, and you know it. You speak the language of little children.

SATURDAY, 16.

          Our forces have succeeded in recrossing the Potomac, and getting off safely with all the immense supplies they secured in Maryland.

          The news from Kentucky is more encouraging than it has been. General Buckner is reported advancing into the State with a considerable force, and some fears are entertained by the military authorities there of an outbreak among the citizens. I would to God I could believe such a consummation were possible.

SUNDAY, 17.

          Colonel Lewis, of Missouri, preached an admirable sermon to-day, from the text, "The name of the wicked shall rot." It was delivered in the open air, in front of Block 4, and was listened to with profound attention by a very large assemblage of prisoners. It has caused me some serious reflections, and, I trust, will influence my conduct for good. Under all circumstances, we are tempted to forget God and to deny the Lord Jesus Christ; but more particularly is such the case with those unfortunates who are "sick and in prison," and whom trial and suffering have rendered querulous and both reckless and indifferent. But adversity has its lessons, and those who will take the trouble patiently to master them will in the end be forced to acknowledge that it is oftentimes better to go up to the house of mourning than to the house of rejoicing. Bunyan wrote his Pilgrim’s Progress inside the walls of a jail, and John Milton, grown old and blind, and "fallen on evil days and evil tongues," gave to the world Paradise Lost. The enlightened Christian should learn to thank God for all the changes and vicissitudes of this mortal life, for the seeming evil as well as the good, for he has the divine assurance that "all things work together for good to them that love and fear God."

MONDAY, 18.

          Gold is going up again, being quoted at 254. The news about the same as yesterday. As usual, we have the stereotyped assurance that "something is going to turn up" pretty soon favorable to the Federal arms. The Yankees are emphatically a nation of Micawbers.

TUESDAY, 19.

Gold, 261.

          Lincoln has issued a call for five hundred thousand more men, to be raised by draft if they do not volunteer before September. This makes over three millions he has called out to subdue a rebellion which the Republicans tell us is now on its last legs. A few months ago, too, he had Howard, of the New-York Times, imprisoned for forging a proclamation from him calling for three hundred thousand men. This Yankee nation is very patient indeed, and is as meek at the feet of the vulgar Dictator at Washington as ever France was at the feet of the great Napoleon. The latter governed his people, it is true, in the name and state of an emperor, while the former keeps his subjects in good humor by reason of his gibes and bar-room jests, and under the mask and figure of harlequin, seizes the sceptre of absolute power and governs one of the most powerful nations on the earth with a rod of iron. How long will they endure it? How long will they tamely submit to give their young men to be slaughtered, their commerce to be wasted, their substance to be eaten up with taxation, only to gratify the vulgar pride and ambition of a political mountebank? This is a question I ask myself daily.

WEDNESDAY, 20.

Gold, 263.

          The Yankees predict every day that Atlanta must soon fall. They also predict the same thing of Petersburg and Richmond. Sometimes they give long accounts in the press telegrams of what the "reliable contraband," the "intelligent refugee," and the "disgusted deserter" have to say in regard to the condition of affairs in the South. Ever since President Davis’s coachman was made a hero of in the North, the Yankees have had a weakness for giving an attentive ear to the idle stories brought by Southern runaways, whether white or colored—the latter, however, usually preferred. And, what is stranger still, although these stories have, in nine cases out of ten, proven to be absolutely false, still each day the Yankee public yields its faith to a new batch of similar canards, and refuses to allow the fraud of yesterday to deprive them of the pleasure of believing the falsehood of to-day. Eheu! O tempora! O mores!

THURSDAY, 21.

Gold, 261.

          The gross falsehoods in regard to the fall of Atlanta have had their effect in Wall street.

          Received my photographs from Sandusky, taken from a pencil sketch by my fellow-prisoner, L. A. Gilliard, of Alabama. This officer is one of the first lawyers of our State, but it is to be regretted that he did not devote himself to the fine arts instead of the law. Partly as an amusement, and partly to assist him in procuring from the sutler a few luxuries which greenbacks alone can supply, he has devoted himself for some time to taking pencil sketches of his fellow-prisoners. These sketches are admirable, and prove him to possess a high order of native artistic merit.

FRIDAY, 22.

Gold, 258.

          The public has been taken completely by surprise by the recent peace negotiations at Niagara, between Messrs. Holcombe, Sanders & Co., of the one part, and Messrs. Greeley, Jewett and Lincoln, of the other. Their abrupt termination by Mr. Lincoln’s letter "To whom it may concern," has produced a deep feeling of disappointment, and will doubtless aid the Peace Democracy very materially in the coming presidential election. Mr. Lincoln has made a faux pas, and his friends see it already. He has declared himself wedded to a policy which can result in nothing but disunion and separation, and at the same time has failed to elicit from the self-styled Confederate Commissioners whether they are opposed to a reconstruction of the Union or not.

          General Grant confesses at last that he wants one hundred thousand more men to enable him to capture Richmond.

SATURDAY, 23.

          Received a barrel filled with hams, pickles, canned fruits, etc., from Louisville, Ky. The donors are strangers to me, but "kindred by a holy tie."

          I am engaged every day now writing a drama (my first attempt at that species of composition), called True Hearts and False; or, How They Do in Dixie. I learn that last winter the Thespians produced an original drama on this island for the entertainment of the rebels here congregated; and when I have completed this, I may offer it to them, provided they should revive their Thespian Society next winter. At all events, I find amusement in the writing of it, and feel myself amply repaid even if my production should never be know outside of Room 13. The man who finds something in this bull-pen to enable him to kill time successfully is a fortunate being.

SUNDAY, 24.

          We had considerable excitement last night. The execrable Fluheart was again officer of the guard. He signalized his being on duty as such by ordering one of the sentinels to fire into Block 5, on the pretext that the lights were not extinguished promptly at taps; which was false. The result of this wanton attempt at murder was the dangerously wounding of one man and the severely wounding of another. This outrage has created a deep feeling of indignation in the prison, and Colonel Hill (whose nerves are none of the strongest) has become alarmed lest an outbreak might take place which would put his life in jeopardy, and has promised that such outrages shall not occur again. As for Dog-face, he is a doomed man should he ever venture to put his foot on Dixie soil—a manifestation of manly courage he will never evince. The bravest are ever the tenderest, and none but cowards are cruel. This despicable villain has rendered himself so odious, that our chief of mess has made application to Colonel Hill to have him superseded by some one else, and it is devoutly to be hoped that our prayer for his removal may be heeded.

          The prison is greatly agitated to-night with a fearful "grape" from Atlanta. Johnston is reported to have been removed, and Hood placed in command. It is said that Hood, immediately on taking the command, assumed the offensive, attacked Sherman, and a terrible battle was the result. I can not believe that General Johnston has been removed, and hence I put no confidence in the rest of the news. I should rejoice to see Sherman defeated, but I should regret exceedingly to see my old chief removed from the command of an army which idolizes him.

MONDAY, 25.

          There has been undoubtedly a severe and bloody engagement at Atlanta, in which General McPherson was killed, and Sherman’s army very roughly handled. It is undoubtedly true, too, that Johnston has been superseded by Hood. The knowledge of this fact has produced the utmost consternation and amazement in the prison, particularly among those officers who belong to the Army of Tennessee. I have great confidence in General Johnston, and equally as great in President Davis, and for once I find myself utterly befogged.

          It has rained nearly all day, and the melancholy aspect of nature has added no little to the mental gloom which has shrouded us all in its black pall. These are the days which try the heart of the patriot more sorely than the smoke and front of battle. I do not wonder now that men have grown prematurely old and gray and bald in this bull-pen.

TUESDAY, 26.

Gold, 257¹/₂.

          We congratulate ourselves in Block 3 that we have at last got rid of our dog-face roll-caller, Fluheart. Colonel Hill has removed him, and sent us a gentleman in his place. As an evidence of our detestation of him, I made two sketches, a la Punch, representing Fluheart at the front and Fluheart on Johnson’s Island, which my friends insisted should be posted on the bulletin-board, and which created much merriment. One represented a dog growling over a chained lion, and the other a dog running in an agony of fright from a lion no longer bound or imprisoned. The pictures needed no explanation, and I was no little amused to listen to the comments of my fellow-prisoners, who had no idea who was the author of the caricature.

WEDNESDAY, 27.

          I am quite sick to-night—threatened with cholera morbus. My friends wonder that I have not been in the hospital sooner, and console me with the assurance that I am going to have a "long spell" of sickness. I trust not.

THURSDAY, 28.

          Sick in bed all day. I am very weak to-night, but l am determined not to go to the hospital so long as I can avoid it.

FRIDAY, 29.

          Am able to sit up once more, but am very weak. It is truly astonishing how rapidly disease prostrates one in this prison. It seems to me I have been sick for weeks, so utterly are all my energies prostrated.

SATURDAY, 30.

          I am still improving. Some fresh arrivals from Johnston’s army to-night—among them Lieutenant Lockett, of the 20th Alabama. He gives me late news from my regiment, which is in the same brigade as his own. He says the removal of Johnston took the army completely by surprise, and that he saw old soldiers weep upon hearing of it like little children. It is thought General Johnston was removed because he allowed Sherman to drive him across the Chattahoochee. I must confess I can not unravel the mystery. Doubtless every thing will work for the best in the end. I know General Hood to be a gallant officer and gentleman; I only fear his inexperience, and that the soldiers of his army will not place that implicit confidence in him which they did in his predecessor. He is certainly a good fighter and full of energy.

SUNDAY, 31.

          I am still improving.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

AUGUST.

MONDAY, 1.

          The news to-day is full of interest. Grant has sprung a mine in front of Petersburg, and the Yankees claim to have surprised Lee and achieved a splendid victory. They lie so much, however, that I do not believe a word of this story. They confess (and this I do believe) that our cavalry have burned Chambersburg, Pa. There is a great howl being raised over this "vandalism" all over the North, and those howl loudest who have been the most outspoken advocates of the indiscriminate pillage and slaughter of the suffering inhabitants of our Southern States. Never was there before as arrant a nation of hypocrites and cowards as these North men—crying out against vandalism while they are themselves the chief vandals of the age, and boldest always when they have to wage war against unarmed citizens and defenseless women and children. I do not justify the burning of Chambersburg, for I would feel much prouder of my country to see her scorn to stoop to an unworthy method of retaliation or revenge; but at the same time, I can not express my contempt and disgust at the spectacle of the whole Yankee nation lifting up hands of holy horror at the burning of one small village, while they have been chanting Te Deums most devoutly for four years over the wide-spread desolation they have caused in the South.

TUESDAY, 2.

          As was to have been expected, the Yankees now acknowledge a sad reverse before Petersburg. Why it is they will persist in lying in regard to their numerous defeats, and afterward confessing that they have lied, is to me a matter of special wonder. The Yankees themselves do not believe their own reports until they have been confirmed about half a dozen times, when they begin to "guess" that there may be some truth in them, after all.

Gold, 257.

WEDNESDAY, 3.

          It rained in torrents last night, and some few of the prisoners attempted to escape, but succeeded only in getting soaked to the skin. The rain has continued most of to-day, rendering this odious prison life most intolerable.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THURSDAY, 4.

Gold, 258¹/₂.

          The inmates of Room 13 have been waging ceaseless war with the hordes of bedbugs (which infest all the prison buildings) ever since I have been here. Having received some money recently, I bought some cheap wall-paper, and we have been very busy to-day scouring out the room and putting up the paper, and we trust in future to rest more quietly at night than we have done heretofore. By scalding our bunks once a week, we ought to get rid of the troublesome bedbugs altogether.

          The Yankees are engaged building a dining-hall for the prisoners, and have had the generosity to offer five cents a day to any rebel who will work on it. This is a little meanness characteristic of New-England, and I am glad that no Southron has proven himself so base as to accept of the offer.

FRIDAY, 5.

          To-day has been set apart as a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer by the Yankees, owing to their recent reverses. It is called a Fast-Day, but the Yankees do not know how to honor God in the proper observance of such a day. They do not believe in God as a personal Deity, who rules in the affairs of men, but rather as a Great First Cause, who rules every thing by fixed laws. In fact, of late years, the transcendentalism of New-England has fast leavened the whole Yankee religion with a mystic creed not very dissimilar to the doctrine of the Buddhists of Hindostan; and Emerson and Beecher, as well as Grant and Sherman, and their followers, great and small, are sacrilegious enough to believe themselves a portion of the Deity. Hence their fast-days are intended not to influence the God who rules in the heavens, but the Yankee gods who rule on the earth; for which reason to-day will be devoted to sermons full of boastful pictures of the power and resources of the North, and equally disparaging caricatures of the weakness and poverty of the South. There will be no heartfelt appeals to the great Jehovah, to assist the Federal arms, but the story of Hercules and the wagoner will be told again and again with much pious unction, after which will be impressively added, Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur. Thank God, such was not the character of our public fast on the 8th day of last April. Then, if never before, the Southern people humbled themselves before God, and besought the Divine assistance, which was that day signally vouchsafed to them in the defeat of Banks by an inferior force, and which has followed our arms ever since. I am not one of those to trust in God without keeping one’s powder dry, but I believe that no amount of dry powder will avail aught when God’s frown rests upon the owners of the powder.

SATURDAY, 6.

Gold, 261.

          The news to-day is very cheering. Stoneman’s raid has resulted in complete disaster, whilst Early seems to keep both Maryland and Virginia in a continual state of alarm for fear of a second invasion. The New-York Press is very sadly demoralized, and James Gorden Bennett once more has plucked up courage to denounce the "nigger." The recent cowardice of the poor blacks in front of Petersburg affords the great Prince of Black Mail a fitting opportunity to display his characteristic impudence, swearing that "I told you so," with all the vehemence of an old woman whose china has been broken by a spoilt child. You are too late, Mr. Bennett.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

SUNDAY, 7.

          Another arrival of prisoners from Johnston’s army. They report our losses very heavy in recent engagements, but agree that we have captured a great many prisoners and achieved considerable successes.

MONDAY, 8.

          We have had the biggest excitement in the prison to-day of any since I came here. Seeing that numbers of Yankees were engaged at work on the new dining-hall, some of whom were allowed to go out with every wagon, a good many of the prisoners procured Yankee uniforms, and went out of the gate with the wagons also. Twenty-three went out in this manner before the trick was discovered, when the island was immediately searched, and all of them recaptured but one, who had a forged pass, and who went off on the boat. The Yankees then came in, and searched the prison for contraband uniforms, and took all they found. The adventures of some of the prisoners outside were quite amusing. One of them got the negro barber outside to shave him, and during the process, he and the barber discussed the propriety of shooting all the rebels engaged in trying to escape. The barber felt convinced they ought all to be shot. When the Yankees came in and arrested his customer, he could only exclaim in the utmost amazement, "Fo’ God! an’ I done shave him, too!"

TUESDAY, 9.

          The news about same as yesterday, except that Farragut is threatening Mobile. Early is said to be falling back from the Potomac, having secured the crops in the Shenandoah valley.

WEDNESDAY, 10.

          Papers full of Yankee lies as usual. Washington officials are reported by telegraph this morning to be very happy. Weather is exceedingly warm.

          Sutler Johnson has been removed, and his place filled by another. Colonel Hill refuses to allow any more sutler’s checks, and after this, every prisoner will have to get an order for every purchase he makes. This will occasion no little inconvenience.

          Finished my Dixie drama to-day, called True Hearts and False, which I have been engaged in writing for a month past, more as an amusement than for any other purpose. It has served to relieve the ennui of prison life, and now that it is finished, I must devote myself to something else, or I shall soon lose my wits in this horrible place. Last winter, there was a Thespian society on the island, amateurs all, and they performed an original drama, called The Battle of Gettysburg. It is said to have succeeded very well. I do not know whether my drama will be suitable for performance on the island or not; but I fear not, as there are several female characters in it, which it would be difficult to get a suitable cast for.

THURSDAY, 11.

          We were mustered again to-day, the Yankees having discovered at last that two of the prisoners are missing. Their messmates have been answering for them for a week past, and doubtless, by this time, they are safe in Canada. Colonel Hill is in great trouble, and is reported as being fearful of waking up some fair morning and finding the rebels in possession of the island.

          The Thespians had a performance to-night, which I attended out of curiosity, and was agreeably surprised to find they succeeded so well. The stage scenery was of a very unique description, having been gotten up on the island. On the right-hand side was a monster likeness of a Confederate colonel, with a brobdignagian moustache, and on the left a naked Venus, while in the rear were most preposterous flower-girls with very scanty costumes, and in the back-ground a country wayside inn, painted red. There was no shifting of scenes during the play, or performance rather, for there was really no play, but a succession of comic singing, dancing, Irish and negro solos, etc. A banjo solo by Captain——was quite a success, there being interspersed with the music many "local hits," which brought down the house. The character of the pieces performed and the scanty stage properties lead me to doubt the successful performance of my recently-completed drama. There is some good talent on the island, however, and it may be that a competent cast for the whole piece can be obtained. Some of the votaries of the Thespian Muse are diligently at work now trying to find the right man for the right place.

FRIDAY, 12.

          General Buell, having recently resigned, has written a letter, which is now eliciting many comments from the press. He declares, among other reasons for the step he was forced to take, that the "policy and the means with which the war was being prosecuted were discreditable to the nation, and a stain upon civilization;" that they "would not only fail to restore the Union, if indeed they had not already rendered its restoration impossible, but that their tendency was to subvert the institutions under which the country had realized unexampled prosperity and happiness." In conclusion, he says: "To such a work I could not lend my hand." No wonder such a man is unappreciated in these days of greenbacks, shoddy, sham patriotism, sham religion, and sham philanthropy. No gentleman or genuine Christian could long remain in favor with the present rulers at Washington. I do not know what General Buell’s religious convictions may be, but that he is a gentleman I have every reason to believe. I remember to have heard, upon his making his head-quarters in Huntsville in 1862, that he was much shocked at the brutal orders which had been issued by General Mitchell. One lady was so touched at an unlooked-for courtesy from him, she could not refrain from remarking that General Johnston (Albert S.) had assured the citizens of Huntsville, on his retreat from Bowling Green, that they would find General Buell a gentleman. General Buell was so deeply affected at this compliment that he could not speak, but the tears which filled his eyes spoke more eloquently than words could have done. It was because of his gentlemanly demeanor that Mr. Lincoln determined to get rid of him, as he has done of all others like him, and as he will continue to get rid of all the gentle and humane who may be induced by whatever influences to aid him in his wicked crusade against the South.

SATURDAY, 13.

          We again have rumors of an exchange. Despite the many bitter disappointments the prisoners here have met with on this subject, many are still sanguine that a general exchange will soon be agreed upon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

SUNDAY, 14.

          Notwithstanding to-day is the Lord’s Day, and should be kept sacred, the Yankees have worked all day on the new dining-hall, which should rather be called a livery-stable, which it more resembles, and which it is called most of the time. It is said that Colonel Hill has the contract for building it, and that he will clear several thousand dollars by it, and that his reason for working to-day is owing to an order from Colonel Hoffman to stop the work if it has not progressed too far. Hill desires to be able to telegraph back to-morrow that the work has progressed so near to completion, the government would lose more by stopping the work than by completing it. The Yankees tell this story on Hill themselves, and seem to regard it as "right deown sharp, neow."

          A wonderful people, these Yankees!

MONDAY, 15.

          Very little news in to-day’s paper. No Dixie letter for me yet. Great mental depression in consequence.

* * * * * * * * * * *

TUESDAY, 16.

          Met the Thespians to-day in the new dining-hall, and read over to them my drama. They expressed themselves greatly pleased with it, but at the same time entertained doubts as to the possibility of properly presenting it on this island. The characters are too numerous, and the scenes too various. They will see what can be done, however.

THURSDAY, 18.

          Wheeler is now in Sherman’s rear. The New-York Herald is out for an armistice and a convention of the States, which is the rallying cry of the Peace party. From this, it would appear that the sentiment is for the present in the ascendant, for there is no better political weathercock than James Gordon Bennett. That canny Scotchman has been horsewhipped too often ever to be caught advocating for any length of time any other but the strong side. The skies are brightening apace, as the day set for the Democratic Convention at Chicago draw nigh.

FRIDAY, 19.

          It seems that the Yankees are determined to starve us to death, if they can not get rid of us otherwise. Colonel Hoffman has issued an order forbidding any more boxes of supplies to be received by prisoners, and forbidding sutler to sell any other articles than combs, soap, tobacco, writing materials, and the like. Fortunately, I have a sufficient supply of flour and hams on hand to last me a month or six weeks, at the expiration of which time I trust the inhuman order will be revoked, for it is almost impossible for a man to sustain life on the rations now furnished by the Yankee government.

          Having now got my drama off my hands, and being already tired of reading novels and playing chess, I find myself growing more and more restless every day, and I must try to find something else to do to keep me from losing my wits. I have thought for some time of writing an account of my experiences since my capture, and I believed I shall now begin the task. It will afford me present occupation, and in the future will doubtless serve to amuse and instruct many an idle hour.

SATURDAY, 20.

          One of the best of our Thespians had a long talk with me to-day about the propriety of having my drama brought out on the Richmond stage. He thinks it could not be properly acted here, but would meet with a good reception if brought out at a first-class theatre, with the necessary scenery and all the stage properties complete. I do not know how that may be, but will think the matter over.

SUNDAY, 21.

          The weather continues very disagreeable. A very large Dixie mail has been received, but I am one of the unfortunates who can fully sympathize with Asa Hartz, when he penned, "But no one writes to me." The disappointment has depressed my feelings to such an extent that I can hardly appreciate the good news of a general exchange being ultimately agreed upon, as the sending of six hundred from Fort Delaware recently leads the more sanguine to believe.

          I see from the papers that Colonel Jacques and Mr. Gilmore have recently had an interview with President Davis. Taking their own account of the interview, and even the Yankees are forced to confess that Messrs. Jacques and Gilmore presented a very sorry appearance when brought in comparison with that manly and dignified intellect which it has pleased God to place at the head of the Southern Confederacy. And yet, even in the presence of such a man as President Davis, the feeble and puerile Jacques and Gilmore could not restrain their Yankee natures, but must needs echo the words of their vulgar master at Washington, and ring the changes once more upon the false assertion that nobody in the North has been hurt by the war. Alas for the weakness and wickedness of the human heart!

MONDAY, 22.

          The recent order of Colonel Hoffman is working greatly to the detriment of those whose friends, unknowing of the same, have lately sent them supplies by express; because, although it is hard enough to be reduced to short ration, "upon compulsion," it is yet much harder to have the cup snatched from your lips just as some friendly hand has pressed it to them. One of the prisoners to-day received a box containing seven hams, besides a variety of other supplies, and the whole lot was confiscated as contraband, barring one poor tooth-brush! Such a disappointment to a man who is and has been for a long time enjoying the hospitalities of this place, is almost enough make a Christian use expletives more emphatic than becoming or proper. And yet this is the lot of many others whose goods have been so summarily taken from them. I observe, however, that this savage usage is having a happy effect in one particular—it is awakening in the breasts of the most indolent and torpid something of the old fire which burned there in the days of their freedom, when they bore themselves proudly in the front of battle; and I entertain some slight hope now that a concerted movement can be carried out for the capture of the island, with Colonel Hill and all his minions. Even the poor worm that crawls in the dust will sting when trodden upon; and however tamely we may submit to insults and oppression, from a sense of helplessness and inability to better our condition, there is yet a depth of despair which on reached seems to give a new life to resolution, just as the fabled Titan was said to acquire fresh strength from every contact with his mother earth. When no other alternative is presented us but starvation or liberty, we may prick up courage to seize the latter, though it be at the cost of many noble lives.

TUESDAY, 23.

          The Fates are once more propitious—I have received a letter, and that too from my wife! No language can express how great a weight of care and anxiety a few brief lines from those one loves, and from whom one is separated by many weary miles, can remove from the overburdened heart of the exile and prisoner; and more particularly when they convey the good tidings that "all is well." The green grass and the gurgling brook of the oasis of the great Sahara do not fill the heart of the way-worn pilgrim with more joy; nor the merry carol of robin-redbreast that of the schoolboy, weary of the winter’s gloomy confinement, when he first is heard singing about the barnyard, the earliest harbinger of approaching spring. But I am too happy to-night to trouble myself with writing down an analysis of my thoughts and feelings. I should dislike above all things to be called upon to pen a learned dissertation upon the subject of gastronomy while discussing with knife and fork a fat roast turkey with cranberry sauce (which, en passant, I should not object to discussing à la fourchette just at this time); and yet that would be a much easier task than for one to undertake a description of his sensations whilst enjoying that serene calm and peace of mind which is vulgarly denominated happiness! Ah me! and in this horrible bull-pen, how like a mental, moral, and spiritual oasis is the return of such moments of quiet joy! Even while I inhale the balm of the flowers and cool my parched lips at the crystal fountain, I seem to see the interminable wastes of sand still stretching out before me, and I feel an involuntary pang at my heart, and sight to think how soon I must part with the present sweets to resume my toilsome journey, equipped with only my pilgrim’s staff, and "sandal shoon," and dry crust of bread, and scanty supply of water!

WEDNESDAY, 24.

          There has been great excitement in Indianapolis, caused by the seizure of four hundred revolvers shipped to a man named Dodd as merchandise. Mr. Lincoln’s agents contend that these arms were intended for the use of the Sons of Liberty, the American Knights, and other secret organizations in sympathy with the South. It may be that Mr. Lincoln’s agents are not far wrong, for I should dislike to believe that there are not in the whole North four hundred good men and true, who are willing to pledge their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honors in defense of that constitutional liberty for which the South is battling, and which has been so ruthlessly trampled under foot by the reigning despotism in the North. If there are any such, now or never is their opportunity to strike one good blow for their country.

THURSDAY, 25.

          The subject of exchange is once more engrossing the attention of the public as well as the prisoners. It is thought the outside pressure will be so great that Mr. Lincoln will be forced to resume the cartel. He can pay no greater compliment to Southern prowess than he does every day by his continued refusal to exchange man for man. It is a virtual acknowledgment that one Southron is worth more as a soldier than one Yankee. All the rest of the twaddle about the other difficulties in the way of a general exchange is just so much moonshine. Mr. Lincoln, as well as Mr. Stanton and Beast Butler, knows better, and so does the Yankee public. It is not very flattering to their amour propre to confess wherein the shoe really pinches, and hence their lies about the negro, the brutality of the Confederate, etc., etc. The simple truth is, they would rather feed us than fight us.

FRIDAY, 26.

          Six more prisoners arrived to-day from Sherman’s army. They do not seem to know much more about the situation in Georgia than we do who have been here for some time. It appears, however, to be pretty generally conceded that Sherman is meditating some grand movement of some sort—what, no one can tell.

          In Virginia, matters remain just the same.

SATURDAY, 27.

          The great excitement to-day has been about the match game of base-ball between the Southron and the Confederate base-ball clubs—the former having for their colors white shirts, and the latter red shirts. The game was very spirited—nine innings—and was won by the white shirts. During the progress of the game, nearly all the prisoners looked on with eager interest, and bets were made freely among those who had the necessary cash, and who were given to such practices; and very soon the crowd was pretty equally divided between the partisans of the white shirts and those of the red shirts, and a real rebel yell went up from the one side or the other at every success of their chosen colors. The Yankees themselves outside the prison-yard seemed to be not indifferent spectators of the game, but crowded the house-tops, and looked on with as much interest almost as did the rebels themselves. Some of them who never yet visited the front doubtless congratulated themselves with the reflection that the show was a free thing, music included, and that they were permitted to listen for once in their lives to the famous yell of the ragged rascals of the Southland, without being called upon to "pay the piper," as so many of their brethren have been forced to do, from the Wilderness to the Rio Grande.

SUNDAY, 28.

          Necessity is the mother of invention, they say, and hunger may well be called one of her handmaids. To assert that the rebels on this island are hungry, however, would be to speak rather too tamely; it would be more fitting to declare that they are famished. One quarter rations (which is about what the merciful Yankee government now doles out to us) will hardly prevent one’s longing for the flesh-pots of Egypt; and since these are far removed at the present time from this locality, my hungry and famishing fellow-prisoners have discovered that the bull-pen is filled with a species of game famous as a great delicacy among the gourmands of the Celestial Empire; and the vogue now is to hunt, kill, and eat the same. I witnessed a grand hunt to-day (Sabbath though it has been) for this much-coveted game, and I could but smile sadly as I beheld many noble gentlemen engage with all a sportsman’s keen relish in the chase after—rats! The island fairly abounds with these animals, of the largest species, and the hunters unearth them wherever found, leaving the killing of them to a little terrier bitch, that is very expert at the business; and in consequence, Nellie (as she is called) is one of the most important personages on the island. I should not be at all surprised to see some of our island poets celebrate on the bulletin-board her virtues in verse, for is she not the friend of the friendless and the feeder of the hungry? I but join in the chorus of voices out in the street when I shout, Hurrah for little black Nellie! I may never be reduced to the necessity of craving her aid to furnish me with a breakfast, but then again I may, and so I shall champion her cause from the beginning. I may yet have to confess that rat-tail soup is quite a luxury.

MONDAY, 20.

          To-day is the momentous day of the meeting of the Chicago Convention—the most important assemblage which this country has ever witnessed, and than which perhaps more important one will not again convene for a hundred years to come. Upon its deliberations and final action hang the issues of peace or war for an indefinite period in the future of the American people. This seems to be the conviction of the whole civilized world, and at this moment all eyes are turned to Chicago, and the great heart of humanity throbs impatient to hear what shall be the utterance of this Democratic oracle—whether it shall foreshadow four years more of blood, and orphanage, and widows tears, and individual distress, and national bankruptcy, or shall it take up the song of the angels who heralded the advent of the Christ, and proclaim, "Peace on earth, good-will to men." This latter is the hope and prayer of all good men everywhere, without regard to creed or color. None but bloodthirsty fanatics, narrow-minded bigots, or fiends incarnate, can hope for a continuance of the present unholy contest, which has reproduced, in the middle of the nineteenth century, all the crimes as well as the nameless horrors of the dark ages. I have great confidence in the Northern Democracy, however much they have been belied by their adversaries, as well as by my fellow-citizens of the South, who have expected them to prove to be more than human. Once more it devolves on them to battle for constitutional liberty at the ballot-box, and if they fail, then there is left to them but one alternative—they must do as we have done, appeal from the ballot-box to the cartridge-box, remembering that,

"Liberty in its last analysis is the blood of the brave."

TUESDAY, 30.

          The first day’s proceedings of the Chicago Convention indicate pretty plainly that McClellan is to be their candidate for President, though as yet there is no positive certainty of it. The prison now is nothing but one grand political caucus, and as much interest is manifested in the deliberations of the sachems of the "unterrified Democracy "at Chicago as if we still formed a portion of "Old Union." The speeches so far indicate that the peace element has the ascendancy in the convention, and will doubtless mould fashion the platform, as well as demand to nominate the Vice-President. Vallandigham, I rejoice to see, is there, and has made a speech in the public square, none daring to molest him or make him afraid. This is a hopeful sign.

WEDNESDAY, 31.

          The peace men have succeeded in controlling the Chicago Convention so far as to make their platform of principles a quasi peace platform, although there is much of ambiguity and a little double dealing in it, which honest-minded can not refrain from regretting. McClellan will now certainly be the nominee for President. This is much regretted by us, and some of our old politicians in here express a fear that McClellan, if elected, will bring about a reconstruction of the Union. Such men are very short-sighted, and, as Louis Napoleon would say, do not understand their epoch. They will live yet to learn that the South is already an independent nation, as separate and distinct from the North as France from England, and no power on earth can ever bring them together again under the same government. With a Democratic President in the North and a Democratic policy, we might again become friends and allies, but brothers—never, never, never! The old politicians not be alarmed—the people have spoken, and Vox populi vox Dei.

SEPTEMBER.

THURSDAY, 1.

          The great agony is over at Chicago, and McClellan and Pendleton are the Democratic nominees. The latter is an out and out peace man, and it is thought that he and McClellan will make a very strong ticket. The Republicans are evidently alarmed. Harper’s Weekly has taken the field for Old Abe, and its largest picture this week is a melodramatic representation of the evil consequences of compromise.

FRIDAY, 2.

          To-day was executed on this island, private J. J. Nickell, of Kentucky, a Confederate soldier, who was captured after Morgan’s raid, accused of being a bushwhacker, tried by a Yankee military court, and sentenced by the same to be brought to this island to be hanged. I presume the thought the sad spectacle would add one more to the many pangs which wring our hearts in this dreary prison-house. No friend was allowed to visit this unfortunate victim of Yankee tyranny, but even his enemies bear witness that he died like a man, sending word to his brother rebels that he wished them to remember that he died a true soldier of the Confederacy. How long, O Lord of all mercies! shall these things continue?

SATURDAY, 3.

          We have reports to-day of the fall of Atlanta. It makes my heart sick to think of it. I do not think I ever saw a deeper gloom pervade this prison than now. The rain which has fallen all day, the short rations, and the bad news combined, have caused even the most sanguine to give way to a momentary depression. How then must it be with our poor privates? Two officers who came in to-day from Rock Island report that the men there get only three ounces of meat and eight ounces of bread per day per man. The poor fellows are absolutely starving. At the same time, they are cut off from all intercourse with their friends outside.

SUNDAY, 4.

          It has been a rainy Sunday, and, what with the weather, and the bad news, and the blue devils, I have spent it, I fear, to little profit. In the afternoon, Colonel Lewis, of Missouri, called to see me, and gave so feeling an account of his sufferings and the sufferings of the other Confederate prisoners while confined in the Alton prison, my blue devils gave place to a devil of a different color—a black devil, indeed, who for a while lorded it over me most royally, swinging aloft his crimson banner with a death’s-head and cross-bones for his device. I thank God, however, the gentle spirit of Christianity has at last exorcised this most malignant and untamable devil, who will thrust himself upon me at times, and I am now tempered to pray for all my enemies, even including the Yankees, whom I regard as the lineal descendants of the Pharisees of old, who built monuments to the prophets their fathers had slain.

MONDAY, 5.

          Colonel Hill had a notice stuck up on the bulletin-board to-day, to the effect that certain officers at Macon, Ga., prisoners of war, desired to enter into an arrangement by which their friends in the North might provide for some Confederate prisoners of war whose friends in the South would do the same by them, and requesting the officers of this prison to notify him in writing who, if any, would be willing to make such an arrangement. I was so utterly disgusted with such a proposition, coming at a time when we are permitted to receive no express, and can not purchase any thing to eat from the sutler, that I could not refrain from writing to Colonel Hill, and calling his attention to the absurdity of his proposal. I presume my letter will accomplish no good, but at all events I have "expressed my sentiments."

TUESDAY, 6.

          Atlanta has certainly fallen. The whole Yankee nation is, to quote one of their slang expressions, in "a blaze of glory." They confidently expect Richmond will fall next, and then Mr. Lincoln will have nothing more to do but follow General Scott’s advice and resort to a "liberal but judicious system of hanging." Well, God’s will be done. General Hood made a good fight for Atlanta, but God has decreed that it should pass for a time into the hands of the enemy, and, however much I may regret the necessity of it, I have that confidence in our cause and in the justice of Jehovah that I shall yet expect to see good come of this apparently terrible disaster.

WEDNESDAY, 7.

          In spite of my philosophy and resignation, I have been in such a restless mood all day, that, finding myself unable to read, write, or think with any coherency, I devoted myself to the making of a gutta-percha ring. It was my first attempt, and I succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations.

          The Sandusky paper of to-day records the death of General John Morgan, the famous partisan, of Kentucky. He was killed in East Tennessee.

THURSDAY, 8.

          Mr. Ould has published all the recent correspondence on the (to us) momentous subject of exchange, and all minds must now be convinced that our government has done every thing in its power consistent with honor to bring about a general exchange, but to no purpose. The United States Government virtually acknowledges that our men are worth more than its own soldiers, and, for fear we will benefit by a general exchange, has resolved to agree to no terms which may be honorably offered.

FRIDAY, 9.

          One more day of monotonous life is disposed of, and, as usual, tired, listless, restless, and ill at ease, I shall retire to my bunk, to spend a night of fitful slumber.

SATURDAY, 10.

          To-day has been as yesterday, and I feel that the prison taint of indolence and hopelessness is fast laying hold on me. I must shake it off and be a man, let the effort cost what it may.

SUNDAY, 11.

          I have been detailed to-night to act as a nurse at the hospital. The policy of restricting the prisoners to government rations is having the desired effect. Sickness is rapidly on the increase. Every ward in the hospital is full, and many are sick in their rooms. The cool, calculating diabolism of this action of the Yankee government is without precedent in the annals of barbarism. Finding that public opinion will sooner or later force them to consent to a general exchange of prisoners, they have deliberately set to work to waste away, if they do not kill outright, the unfortunate wretches now in their power, so that they can not be of much service to the Confederate government when they shall be exchanged. Their excuse is that they perpetrate such barbarities by way of retaliation for the sufferings of their prisoners in our hands; but, if that be the case, why will they not consent to a general exchange? By so doing, their own men now prisoners would be restored to their friends, and they would be relieved of the pretended necessity of retaliation. No, they deliberately lie to their own people, and as deliberately devote thousands of innocent victims to a lingering torture, and this too with professions of humanity and Christianity on their lips.

MONDAY, 12.

          The telegrams announce to-day that the New-York News has bolted the Chicago nomination. I regret this very much. At the best, the contest between McClellan and Lincoln will be close, and the defection of any portion of the Democracy can not be otherwise than unfortunate. It is true, McClellan, in his letter accepting of the nomination, has shown himself to be more of a war-man than I had supposed, but he is still much to be preferred over Abraham Lincoln, who has done us as much evil as any other man possibly could. It may be, however, that Mr. Ben Wood is afraid the election of McClellan might result, by some possible combination of circumstances, in a restoration of the Union, a fear which I find is seriously entertained by many of our old politicians in this prison. I have to combat their fears as well as their arguments every day, and at times our discussions become very earnest indeed; for it seems to me such an absurd idea ought not to be entertained for one moment by rational men. What! after so much blood has been shed and so much treasure lost to establish our independence as a nation, to turn round and give up the struggle, give up our flag, surrender our rights and liberties once more to the varying whims and caprices of a Northern mob! The idea is altogether preposterous and absurd. It is a slander upon the Southern people to believe them capable of such a weakness, and so I tell these timid old wire-workers, who are so much afraid of McClellan and the Northern Democracy. The true Democrats of the North are nature’s genuine noblemen, and they would themselves prefer to see the South free and independent, for they know her living example will be of incalculable benefit to them in aiding to preserve constitutional liberty in the North and West. They are our true friends and allies, and as such I wish them success in the present struggle for political power.

TUESDAY, 13.

          For the first time since I have been on this island, I have been privileged to go outside the prison inclosure, and to stroll about a little at my ease over that portion of the island near the Confederate graveyard. The occasion which brought me this short respite was the funeral of a fellow-prisoner who died on yesterday. Twenty-one of us were permitted to accompany the corpse, on parole not to attempt to escape, nor to hold communication with any one outside. The occasion was a sad one, but the day was most lovely, the air cool and pleasant, the grass green, and the lake was scarcely ruffled by a little wanton breeze, which, like a coy maiden, seemed half afraid to let its gentle whisperings be heard.

          In spite of the charms of nature, however, and the delicious sense of freedom which the outside world seemed to infuse into my spirits, I followed the dray which bore away the corpse of my friend (for such I regarded him, although he was personally an entire stranger to me) with melancholy steps and slow.

          The graveyard is on the north side of the island, and now contains nearly two hundred graves of deceased prisoners of war. The Masons have done much toward adorning the spot, but it has nevertheless a most desolate and mournful look. A few Yankee soldiers gathered about us during the solemn ceremonies of burial, as well as some half dozen women, one of whom I saw weeping with true womanly sympathy; the coarse wooden box containing the corpse was lowered into the ground, a brother prisoner made a feeling and appropriate prayer, and soon "dust was returned unto dust."

          It was one of the saddest spectacles I ever witnessed. Not a sound disturbed the solemn stillness, not even the voice of a bird from the grove near by, which seemed to be untenanted by any of the feathered tribe. Ah me! God pity the poor wife and little ones in their far-distant home, whose natural protector and best earthly friend sleeps here his last sleep in this humble graveyard of the Confederate dead!

WEDNESDAY, 14.

          One hundred men, prisoners, from Camp Chase, all privates, arrived here to-day. They look very yellow, sickly, and wobegone, with wool hats and ragged clothing, bearing the outward marks of having seen much hard usage, but they have already given evidence that they are not yet "subdued." The Yankees sent them here to have them police the prison, but when the subject was broached to them, they refused to do more than their proper proportion with the rest of the prisoners. The Yankees could not understand this manly pride of free men, and threatened to bring in a guard and force them to do the work. "Bring in your guard," was the spirited reply, "and we’ll whip them out quicker than h—l could scorch a feather!"

The guard was not brought in, nor will it be.

          By an arrangement between the two governments, the prisoners recently held in close confinement have been released. Some few so held on this island have been thus released, and it does one good to witness their joy at the change. Even the freedom of this "pent-up Utica" has given a quickness to their steps, a smile to their thin and wasted lips, and a music to their laughter, to which they have been strangers for many weary months. Alas! how long must

"Man's inhumanity to man make countless millions mourn"?

THURSDAY, 15.

          Last night I had occasion to step out just before the bugle sounded the tattoo, and I was no little diverted at a novel scene which met my gaze. I believe I have already recorded how my half-starved brother rebels on this island were engaged some time since in a grand rat-hunt with the canine Miss Nellie. It seems that, having torn up all the sewers and bridges, and dug out every rat that could be found, they are now forced to many cunning stratagems to secure their game, these having betaken themselves to their secure retreats underneath the various prison buildings. The first hunter I stumbled on to-night was concealed in the shadow of the steps leading up to the second floor of the block, armed with a bow and arrow, and patiently watching for the unsuspicious rat to make his appearance. Next I encountered two hungry rebels, one of them holding Nellie, while the other concealed himself until a rat ran out from underneath the adjacent buildings, when he proceeded immediately to "flank" it, his confederate at the same time turning loose Nellie and hieing her on to the chase. This party had thus gobbled up two fine fat long-tails while engaged in their usual nightly perambulations in the moonshine, and seemed to be in the very best of spirits in consequence of their success.

          While amusing myself in watching this sport, I chanced to look down the row of buildings, and, behold! at least twenty prisoners were out, deployed as skirmishers, and armed with clubs, making a general hunt! It was the Rat Club engaged in securing their meat for to-morrow’s dinner! I could not but laugh, and yet really this spectacle ought not to incline one to mirth. It is true these gentle men make light of the extremes to which they have been reduced, but, alas! what a commentary is this upon the boasted civilization of the nineteenth century!

FRIDAY, 16.

          Gold has fluctuated very much in Wall street of late, but is again on the rise. Little or no news from the armies in the field. The elections in Maine and Vermont have resulted in favor of the Republicans, but the impression seems to prevail that McClellan will be elected. The wish doubtless is father to the thought. As he is pledged to advocate an exchange of prisoners, his election is now pretty generally desired in this prison by men of all shades of opinion.

          Forty of our fellow-unfortunates left this afternoon for Fortress Monroe to be exchanged, most of them on the sick-list, but some few on special exchange, and among the latter Colonel Lewis, of Missouri, one of the most useful and active men whom we had here. I am well pleased at his going to Richmond, for he will be able to make known to the authorities there some facts which ought to have reached the government long ago. During the entire day, the departure of these officers has been the one topic of conversation. Every one of them was overwhelmed with the messages to be delivered to dear ones in Dixie, and Colonel Lewis in particular, who was forced to betake himself to my room in order to enjoy a brief respite from the importunities of the crowd. With all his benevolence and good nature, he will have both severely taxed if he endeavors to perform half that has been required of him. The departure of these few prisoners has inspired us all with a confident assurance that a general exchange will soon take place. It is hoped and believed that Mr. Lincoln can not long resist the pressure that is now brought to bear upon him, even from his own party. But he has proven himself heretofore so deaf to every appeal of outraged humanity, I am prepared to see him resort to any species of barbarism which one might look for in a king of the Cannibal Islands.

SATURDAY, 17.

          Sandusky is to-night alive with the unterrified Democracy, as we can see from our island prison-house. To-day has been set apart as the grand ratification-day of the nominees of the Chicago Convention. With the exception of Ben Wood and Sam Medary, all the newspaper leaders the Peace Democracy are supporting McClellan and Pendleton, and it is thought probable that they too will support them before the day of election. There is indeed no other alternative left them. They must either support McClellan or Lincoln. Between the two, I can not see how any lover of his country, of free institutions, of humanity, could long hesitate. It is true that McClellan has not taken as bold a stand for peace as was hoped for by many, but "a half a loaf is better than no bread." The election of Lincoln will either inaugurate civil war in the North sooner or later, or it will cause four years more of bloodshed in the useless and heartless endeavor to subjugate the Southern States. On the other hand, the election of McClellan will at least render the government of the United States decent and respectable, and bids fair to a cessation of hostilities, which will eventuate in a permanent peace and the establishment of the independence of the Confederate States. Under no circumstances, could the old Union ever again be restored, and I think it would be better to agree upon the terms of final separation, with a Democratic administration in the North, than with one which has proven itself to be so utterly unprincipled and dishonest as the present Black Republican administration of Abe Lincoln, Bill Seward and Company. But the contest will be decided in a few weeks now, and until then I shall endeavor to possess my soul in patience, knowing that God still rules, and that "He doeth all things well."

SUNDAY, 18.

          It has been a dark and gloomy day, and I have yielded myself almost wholly to melancholy reflections. Although I desire to take little or no interest in the pending political contest in these Northern States, I yet find it impossible to feel otherwise than deeply interested in the result. I have so much every day to remind me of the great issues at stake—issues on which depend the happiness or misery of so many millions of my fellow-creatures—that, with all my philosophy, I am unable to divest myself of the fears and anxieties I entertain in regard to the final result. I feel that the people of the North have even more at stake than the people of the South. We have already purified ourselves by passing during four years through such a baptism of blood and fire as few people have been called upon to pass through, but our trials have been light compared with those reserved for the people of the North, provided they deliberately resolve to continue in power the present wicked and blood-stained Administration. Mr. Lincoln, no longer dreading rebuke, will then visit upon the heads of his political enemies all the vials of his unmitigated wrath, and what these are, one can well judge from his treacherous and barbarous dealings with the people of the South. Never was there such a disgraceful administration of public affairs known to the civilized world before as his has been. Bound by no compact, however solemn, he seems to act the usurper and vulgar tyrant from a simple love of cruelty and inhumanity. Only recently, it was agreed by the two governments that all prisoners on both sides held in close confinement should be released, and accordingly those so held on this island were released; but they have again been confined as before, without one word of excuse or palliation. The men in power at Washington may think there is no God, but they will yet learn that there is, and that to "Him belongeth vengeance."

MONDAY, 19.

          We have had several excitements in the bull-pen to-day. In the first place, the Rat Club (which is now a recognized institution, on an equal footing with our Chess Club, our Base-Ball Club, Cricket Club, and numerous others) are much exercised—that is, the members of it—over the fact that Nellie has given birth to four puppies. It is expected now that next winter will afford a splendid opportunity for training these juvenile terriers to hunt the much-coveted game. Rats are now all the rage, and, next to rats, Nellie and her terrier pups.

          Then, in the second place, another prisoner has effected his escape, passing out in the morning with the roll-callers, and as one of them, and afterward going off on the boat to Sandusky on a forged pass, and thence to Canada; and two others—one of them the senior captain of my regiment, who has tried almost every means of escape, but so far fruitlessly—succeeded in passing out and even in reaching the boat, when they were detected and carried to Colonel Hill. This dignitary was very wroth, and threatened to put them on bread and water for the rest of the war for forgery, but finally thought better of this childish resolution and turned them loose, having first stripped them of their Yankee uniforms.

          And, lastly, we have to-night a grand excitement, which is not confined to the prisoners alone. Indeed, the excitement outside seems to be even greater than it is inside. The Yankees report that a big fight is going on over in Sandusky, on account of the draft, but it is suspected by the knowing that something else is on foot. One thing is certain, the old Michigan has got up steam and beat all hands to quarters, while troops have been sent off in great haste to Sandusky, for what purpose can only be guessed at. At present, every body, both inside and outside the prison, is on the qui vive, and to-morrow’s dawn is looked forward to with the greatest impatience.

TUESDAY, 20.

          It is hard to arrive at the truth in regard to the scare of last night and to-day on the part of the Yankee guardians of this island. The Michigan steamed away during the night, and only returned this afternoon. While she was absent, Colonel Hill seemed to be in a great fright, and had all his forces under arms, not excepting cooks and laborers. His battery, too, was placed in position on the shore, as if expecting an attack from the water, and no rations whatever were issued to the prisoners. The Sandusky Register of this morning was quite silent upon the doings of yesterday hereabouts, only incidentally mentioning that all the passengers aboard one of the trains which reached the town yesterday had been arrested, but for what purpose we can only conjecture. The soldiers who went over there from the island returned with several prisoners, and there are many vague rumors of an exploded Canada plot to relieve the prisoners confined here, but nothing definite is yet known. Something has turned up undoubtedly of a startling character, which the Yankees are very desirous of concealing from us. It is now believed that the Yankee surgeon’s visit to the prison yesterday, upon the professed business of examining the sick preparatory to sending them off, was intended to lull suspicion, and to deceive us into the belief that a general exchange of prisoners would soon take place, the sick and convalescing to be first sent away. We hear nothing further to-day from the proposed examination, and those who counterfeited the innumerable ills to which our mortal flesh is heir, even resorting to medicines to make themselves temporarily sick, now fear that they have only had their labor for their pains. Well, if the plans concocted for our deliverance have been detected and thwarted, we must bear our chagrin and disappointment as best we may. Meanwhile, we are all anxious to learn the particulars of what has taken place in the outside world during the past twenty-four hours.

WEDNESDAY, 21.

          The Register of this morning gives the full particulars of the big scare of yesterday and the day before. It appears that a combined effort was to have been made to capture the steamer Michigan and to release the prisoners confined here. Colonel Hill received intelligence from his spies, which led him to arrest certain suspicious-looking parties in Sandusky, who were to have acted in concert with others from Canada, who succeeded in capturing the Philoi Parsons and Island Queen, two lake steamers plying from Sandusky to adjacent points. The Island Queen was sunk, and the Parsons was steamed to within sight of this Island, and waited some time for the signal agreed upon, but not getting it (owing to the discovery of the plot by the Federal authorities), steamed away, and has not been heard from since. It is very much to be regretted that so pretty a scheme should have been frustrated in the very hour of success, owing to the weakness or treachery of some of those who were intrusted with the secret. This unfortunate denouement of our plans has cast a gloom over the minds of us all, and we can not now hope for a speedy release from our weary confinement except through the instrumentality of a general exchange. The most mortifying reflection is, that the fellow Cole, arrested in Sandusky (who is evidently a Yankee spy, and has now professed to turn State’s evidence), should have so deceived our friends outside, professing to have been at one time a captain in the army of the Confederate States, as to be intrusted with information which will seriously compromise many sympathizing friends in the North, while exposing to the Federal authorities our plans inside this prison for escape.

THURSDAY, 22.

          This has been a blue day. There is now no longer any reason to doubt that the attempt to release the prisoners here has miscarried. We are doomed to this horrible place until we shall be released by that most amiable and kind-hearted of potentates, A. Lincoln. The prospect is any thing else than pleasing. The fall of Atlanta, Farragut’s success, and the recent defeat of Early have all combined to determine the authorities at Washington to persevere in their heartless resolution to keep one hundred thousand fellow-beings—both friends as well as foes—in vile prisons until the Rebellion shall be crushed. Inhuman wretches! How long, O Lord of Hosts! wilt thou endure that such monsters shall pollute this fair earth by their wicked presence? Alas. God only knows. For the present, I am not a proper person to approach the Divine audience with impertinent queries. My brain is in a whirl, a tumultuous whirl of passion; my thoughts are like firebrands; my blood is aflame with indignation, and even my eyes pain me, so hot are they and dry and weary with vain watching and waiting for the realization of impossible dreams. This night do I feel more sadly perhaps than ever before what it is to be a prisoner—away front friends, shut out from the busy haunts of men, in the hands of a cruel enemy, reduced to the poorest and most revolting rations, depressed in spirits and destitute of hope, and feeling, for all the world, like a caged lion must feel who has been deprived of his teeth and his claws, and to whom is denied even the luxury of a royal roar. I should like to read over again Byron’s "Prisoner of Chillon," but I have no copy of his works by me, and the sorrowful pleasure must be dispensed with. However, there is a better Book, which I trust to have always by me, which tells of a more wretched prisoner still—Man—and that is the Holy Bible. In this sacred Book, I will seek comfort and consolation.

FRIDAY, 23.

          The equinoctial storm has burst upon us to-night in great fury. My mind has been so disturbed for several days that I could do nothing else but read novels and play chess, and I was to-night deep into Miss Pardoe’s Jealous Wife, when suddenly the storm burst upon us in all its fury. The frail shell of a building in which we live was shaken like a reed, (and my room-mates jumped up in the wildest confusion, some of them rushing to the windows to keep them from blowing out, and others rushing, en déshabillé, out into the street into the rain, while all were bawling out that Block 4 had blown down, and that our block would soon blow down also. The storm howled like a demon, and mingled with the roar of the elements outdoors were the shrieks, groans, and prayers of human beings in distress; but I still stuck to my novel until the wind and rain dashed in at one of the windows, knocking down my light, and leaving me shrouded in total darkness, except when relieved by the vivid flashes of lightning which followed one another fast and yet faster, until the storm blew over. It was a grand hour of dread sublimity, what with the shouts and prayers of the drenched and half-naked rebels in the streets, the roar of the tempest, the booming of cannon, which Colonel Hill caused to be fired, in his mortal terror, lest his prisoners should escape (since nearly all the west wall of the prison had been blown down), and the still louder booming of heaven’s artillery, which was preluded by the most vivid and continuous flashes of lightning. The storm is now nearly over, but the Yankees have not yet got over their scare, and keep up a constant firing of small arms at various posts on the walls, doubtless for the purpose of intimidating all those rash rebels who may consider this as a fitting occasion to attempt an escape.

SATURDAY, 24.

          The wreck made by last night’s storm presented a sad spectacle this morning. The roofs of three blocks are blown off, besides a portion of the roofing to the hospital, and nearly all of the west wall of the prison-fence was prostrated on the ground, and the new dining-hall was nearly careened over on its side, to say nothing of the damage done to the buildings outside the prison enclosure. Had the prisoners made a bold attempt early in the morning, the island could have been captured in ten minutes. All that was needed was resolution; but the opportunity was allowed to escape, and I never expect to see as favorable a one offer again. The prisoners here have been confined too long; they are emasculated by it, and prefer to laugh and jest over the adventures of last night, to striking one manly blow for their liberation. I shall henceforth trouble myself no more about the secret organization to which I belong, and henceforth I shall watch for an opportunity to escape in disguise, or by any other means which circumstances may suggest. They are bringing some new troops here—a portion of them having reached here yesterday—and perhaps these new-corners, belonging as they do to the Veteran Invalid Corps, may not prove to be as watchful as the Hoffman Battalion and the 128th Ohio, these latter having done nothing else but guard prisoners since their organization. I see no other chance of getting away at present, for it is now believed that no general exchange will take place so long as Mr. Lincoln is in authority; and yet I can not endure the thought of being forced to remain here during the coming winter, supplied as I am with insufficient clothing and bedding, and fed on half rations, which do not contain enough sustenance for a well man in summer-time, much less during the winter weather, which reigns here from November till May.

SUNDAY, 25.

          The weather is exceedingly cold—almost cold enough for a freeze. The Yankees have been busy all day at work repairing the damage done by the storm. I have set in my room, cold, silent, moody, and most melancholic. I have been holding secret communion with my own thoughts. I have with great egotism constituted myself a judge, and the world has been summoned to appear before my august tribunal to be judged. And this is the wise decision I have rendered: That it is a very hollow world, a very cruel world, a very shallow world, a very deceitful world, a very vain and selfish world, take it all in all. And, furthermore, that it is a world which frowns on truths plainly bluntly spoken, and lives honestly lived, and great minds which mock at the emptiness of its vain shows and its manifold delusions. And yet, for all that, there live in it (but they are not of it) true men and women, of whom it never was worthy, and whose reward it does not give, and yet can never take away. Yes, thank God! there is in every honest man’s breast that "peace above all earthly dignities, a clear and quiet conscience." I have been led to these reflections by reading of the monster Paine’s doings in Kentucky, he having recently caused to be shot and hanged as many as sixty persons, without any sort of trial whatever. Although he deprived them of their lives, he could not deprive them of the proud consciousness of having discharged their duties to God and their country, nor of their trust in God’s justice, and their faith in the ultimate triumph of their country’s righteous cause. The cruel despot and bloody-handed murderer who deprived them of their lives still lives, and gloats over the wickedness he has done; yet who would not much rather sleep in the bloody shrouds of his victims than to strut with him his little hour of brief authority on the world’s stage?

MONDAY, 26.

          Early has been again defeated at Fisher’s Hill, and the Yankees report this afternoon that both Early and Breckinridge have been captured, and also that Petersburg has been evacuated. This is what we call in this bull-pen a "big grape." The Yankees evidently believe it, however (for when did they ever refuse to believe any lie their government wished them to believe?) and have been hurrahing most vehemently outside all the afternoon, and to-morrow will fire off one hundred guns. I do not think I ever saw my fellow-prisoners so demoralized before. Notwithstanding they have been regaled with such Yankee lies for twelve months and more, they seem to accept of these enormous "grapes" just now brought in for our special digestion, as readily as if they had no knowledge whatever of Yankee character. It is very humiliating to me to have to witness such demoralization as I witness to-night. Some of the very weak and doubting Thomases profess to believe that the Confederacy has "gone up." But if at times like the present it is sad to contemplate the weakness of the imbecile and faint-hearted, it is much sadder and more humiliating to witness the quiet smile of satisfaction which lurks about the mouths of those traitors whose hearts are not with the South, although they profess to be here as Confederate officers. A coward may be pitied, for nature at the outset failed to make a man of him, but a dastardly traitor, who is not only a traitor, but too base a coward to dare acknowledge his treason, is, of all God’s creatures, the vilest and most detestable, the object of every man’s scorn, and for whom the halter which hangs the ordinary villain is too good and too sacred an instrument of the law’s vengeance. Such wretches do exist, however, even in this prison, and I marvel greatly that God does not blast them outright with the fiercest thunderbolts of His divine wrath.

TUESDAY, 27.

          As was to have been expected, the telegrams of this morning prove that the demoralization of yesterday was altogether causeless. Early has not been captured, nor has Petersburg been evacuated. On the contrary, Forrest has captured Athens, Ala., and is moving toward Middle Tennessee, while Price is in Missouri, reported to have with him an army of thirty thousand men. From present indications, I think the crisis of this year’s campaign is past, and I look now for Confederate successes to be in the ascendant for the future. It is true, gold touched as low as 180 in Wall street yesterday, but it will not long remain at that quotation, which it reached owing to the senseless firing of cannon, burning of torches, and other similar displays of rejoicing ordered by A. Lincoln in honor of the "recent great Union victories." One hundred guns were fired on this island, but the Yankees themselves seemed to be ashamed of the puerile demonstration. Well, let them burn their powder while they can, fire off their Roman candles, and have their cities ablaze with sky-rockets; in a few more short months, and glory and the glare both will have passed away, to be succeeded by a terrible blackness of darkness, in the deep damnation of which the burnt stocks of their now blazing sky rockets will descend with unprecedented violence; and then, woe to those who do not stand from under! In that day, there will be weeping amid wailing and gnashing of teeth, or I have sadly mistaken the signs of the times. This boastful Yankee nation may delude itself with the belief that there is no God; but the Almighty will yet convince even the most truculent of them all that He exists, and that He rules in the affairs of men, rewarding those who diligently seek Him, and bringing the scoffers and the unbelieving to judgment.

WEDNESDAY, 28.

          Some time since, the Yankees appointed a committee to investigate into the condition and sufferings of prisoners, North and South. These unbiased and impartial judges have just made out their report, which they have thought proper to publish in pamphlet form. They base their decision in regard to Southern prisoners upon the ex-parte statements of released prisoners, and in regard to Northern prisoners upon the ex-parte testimony of the Yankee officials in charge of the same. Of course, they pronounce the treatment of prisoners in the South as barbarous, and the treatment of prisoners in the North as eminently humane and just. No other verdict could have been looked for from this packed jury, nor would any other have been allowed. They have done the duty their master assigned them to do, and it is but meet they should receive his approving smiles. It is useless to say that these impartial committeemen have lied, willfully and with malice aforethought; for it was intended from the first that they should do that very thing. And yet the New York Herald publishes their report, and says naively that this very truthful "report is now to be considered as a part of the history of the times!" It is singular how eager these Yankees are to write their own history of their own doings. They evidently fear to trust to the calmer and unbiased judgment of after-times. And it is well they do, even in regard to this pamphlet of the prison commissioners; for, granting that their report is true in every particular, the question yet arises, Who is to blame for the hardships of Libby, Belle Isle, Andersonville, etc.? Not the Confederate States surely, for they have all along besought the North to remove the prisoners from those places, by agreeing to a general exchange, which humane proposition the virtuous and civilized North has persistently refused to accede to.

THURSDAY, 29.

          I have read of persons living in garrets, and I think it is Beranger who sings of the pleasures of such a home; but I am now about to acquire a practical knowledge of the) subject, though, it must be confessed, under hardly so favorable circumstances for appreciating the romance of the thing as the French poet enjoyed. Since the cold and wet weather set in, I have found Room 13 so crowded and disagreeable, that it was next to impossible for one to study in it to any advantage. For ten days, now, I have done scarcely any thing else than play chess and read novels, what time I have not been engaged talking politics or discussing the "military situation." So weary did I become of such a life of uselessness, I determined to devise some way to get rid of it. Having had a hole cut in the ceiling of the hall, and just opposite the door of Room 13, my adjutant and I have fixed us up a little room in the garret, which we occupy to-night for the first time, in company with Charley Klink, of Georgia, a friend of Shorter's. Our solitary window is a square hole cut in the end of the gable, and I can hardly walk for bumping my head against the rafters; but we are blessed with quiet, and besides we can burn the midnight taper without the fear of Yankee sentinels before our eyes. I may have to stay here all the winter, and in that case I am determined not to waste in idleness and vain repinings the precious moments of a youth which is rapidly passing away. What studies I shall devote myself to, I have not yet decided upon, but I have determined that my time is to be profitably employed.

          Gold is on the rise in Wall street once more, being quoted at 202 yesterday. Price’s movements in Missouri and Forrest’s bold push into Tennessee have doubtless convinced the Bulls and Bears of Wall street that the Rebellion is not yet crushed.

FRIDAY, 30.

          The weather is very bad, and yet the Yankees have covered only one of the three blocks, the roofs of which were blown off in the recent hurricane. The inmates of the other two are exposed to the pitiless beatings of the cold rain, which comes down in a drizzling shower, almost like a snowstorm in dead winter. What renders matters worse, the prisoners, immediately after the late hurricane, stole all the shingles, plank, and pieces of broken scantling for fire-wood, besides considerable lumber the Yankees had brought in for the repair of damages, and so not even a temporary shelter can be erected for the benefit of those exposed. It seems now that winter will soon be here, and as the prospects of exchange are not so bright as they were, everybody is busy making his preparations for another long and gloomy winter. The garrets of all the blocks are being rapidly filled up with shingles and pieces of plank for kindling-wood; while the rooms are being pretty generally overhauled, in order to be ready for the stoves which the Yankees promise to issue soon. Besides, as there are considerable quantities of lumber being brought in now, a great deal of it is "hooked" by the rebels, despite the Yankee guards, to be used in making shelves, fixing up bunks, and in the lower blocks putting up partitions, etc., etc. Altogether, it is just now a busy time in the bull-pen. I have also been hard at work on my garret, Shorter and Klink and I having "hooked" considerable lumber ourselves; and I think I shall eventually have the snuggest and most recherchè retreat in the prison. It gives one a home feeling to have a quiet place, to which he can retire at will and feel that he is alone—alone with his own thoughts, and fearing no intrusion from restless and discontented loafers, who have no aim in life, and who seem determined their friends shall have none as well.

OCTOBER.

SATURDAY, 1.

          The rain continues, and the wind is "awful." It is difficult to conceive of a worse place for mud and filth. A hog-pen is the only comparable nuisance which rises to my mind while I write. Fortunately, in the rush for the few stoves which were brought in to-day, I succeeded in getting one for my attic, and when I get it up and my room thoroughly finished, I shall not venture outside the limits of my snug little domain except upon urgent occasions. My little window looks out upon the lake, toward Sandusky, with a full view of the island wharf outside, and when I weary of reading and writing, I can gaze upon the objects of inanimate nature, and dream of that freedom of the fields and the woods which for the present it is denied me to enjoy. If it be my evil destiny to spend a winter on this barren isle, I feel very thankful when I consider how fortunate I am in having secured this quiet spot, where I can devote myself unmolested to study, to self-communion, and self-improvement. One who has never been constrained to herd promiscuously with hundreds of his own sex for any length of time, deprived of all privacy, of all uninterrupted freedom of thought, can form no adequate conception of the satisfaction and downright happiness which the poor comforts of even a garret, with its bleak rafters and bleak walls, can bestow. That satisfaction and that happiness is mine to-night. It is with an indescribable sense of delicious independence that I read on and write on after "taps," well knowing that the blanket over my window conceals from the Yankee guards the light in my room, while the prevailing quiet woos me to indulge in the wildest and most delicious dreams of a future full of sunshine and a succession of endless beatitudes.

SUNDAY, 2.

          The Yankees do not permit us to write but two letters a week—one on Thursday and one on Sunday; but last Sunday I sent off three letters, and to-day I send off three more. I have already found nearly a dozen correspondents, or rather they have found me, and I write now an average of one letter a day. I manage to do this by borrowing the name of some prisoner who does not wish to write by that particular mail, disguising my handwriting slightly, but not enough to deceive my correspondents, who readily understand the meaning of the new signature. By this means, in spite of the late order, our correspondence goes on as uninterruptedly as heretofore. Nor are we as yet restricted in the number or the character of the newspapers which we are allowed to receive, at which I am somewhat surprised. At Rock Island and other prisons in which our poor privates are confined, no newspaper is ever allowed to reach them, and they have to depend on the Yankees for all the news they ever get of what is going on in the outside world. Added to this, they are forced to live on quarter rations—they have no sympathizing friends to forward to them supplies of any kind, and very seldom are allowed to receive even letters from Dixie. When I reflect on these things, calling to mind how nobly the gallant fellows have stood by the Southern Cross—their weary marches day and night, their patient endurance of untold hardships, their unflinching courage in the dread hour of battle—now still more unflinching, forasmuch as it is more cruelly tested—I am constrained to confess that the true heroes of this war are the privates of the Southern army.

MONDAY, 3.

          The Register of this morning has a grand flourish over Grant’s late attack on Richmond. The censors of the telegraph assure us with great confidence that Petersburg will certainly be captured in a day or two, and then comes the fall of Richmond as a matter of course. I weary of reading these stereotyped lies, and yet, in spite of them, I perceive clearly that General Grant has met with a severe repulse both north of the James as well as south of Petersburg. The truth will yet come out, after a few days, despite Mr. Lincoln’s censors.

          At last I have my stove in its place, and now I feel prepared for winter, and the worst the enemy can do to me. It is not a cooking-stove, but a little ingenuity can convert it into one sufficient for the uses of a rebel prisoner, fed on the rations at this time furnished by the Federal government.

TUESDAY, 4.

          We have the usual assurances to-day that Grant will take Petersburg in a day or two, embellished by the further assurance that Jeff Davis and Cabinet have fled from Richmond in dismay, and that General Lee has been created supreme dictator. These and other kindred lies have been told this wonderful Yankee nation even since McClellan first used the spade in front of the Southern capital; and yet they are now published with as much positiveness as if for the first time, and, stranger yet, are apparently believed by the community! Gold is tumbling in consequence of the successful operations of Price and Forrest not being sufficient to overbalance the fall of Richmond, the abdication of President Davis, the capture of General Lee and his heroic veterans, and the consequent subjugation, extermination, and total annihilation of the Southern people. The poor dupes, however, will yet open their eyes to the truth that the South never can and never will be subjugated, and, what is more, that they themselves are the parties enslaved, doomed to a degradation tenfold worse than all the horrors the chivalrous South has endured in defense of independence.

WEDNESDAY, 5.

          In nothing do the Yankees evince more evidently their own consciousness of guilt, in attempting to subjugate the free people of the South, than in their eagerness to impress upon the minds of posterity, as well as the living generation, their own version of the struggle as the true one. This is evidenced in a thousand ways. Their newspaper reporters, their committees of investigation, their Congress, their Presidential proclamations, their speeches from the hustings, their lyceum lecturers, and even their quondam literary magazines, all labor to accomplish one purpose—to falsify the living history of the times. I have just amused myself reading the Monthly Record of Events in Harper’s Magazine for October, the said record being intended to give a summary of the doings of August and September just past. Notwithstanding these events are fresh in the memory of all, here in this very impartial and laborious literary monthly, one finds nothing but the most barefaced falsehoods, with just enough of truth to give a look of respectability to the whole. And yet I do not know that one should feel much surprised at this either, when even the official bulletins of the Administration are notoriously mendacious to such a degree that "Stanton to Dix" is regarded as a suitable heading to every lying canard to be found in the papers. Only yesterday, one of these official falsehoods assured us that Grant had achieved a great victory in front of Richmond, with a loss of five hundred men; while to-day the patient public is informed that the Union loss south of Petersburg alone was two thousand (one half in prisoners), while one division alone north of the James lost five hundred men! In view of these facts, I am constrained to ask myself every day, have these people no virtues left at all? Do they disbelieve wholly in a just God, who loves truth and mercy, and who will yet bring them to an account for their sins? It does seem so.

THURSDAY, 6.

          Another squad of about fifty sick left here to-day Dixie, to be exchanged. It was touching to see them start, with so many friends crowding eagerly around them and fairly overloading them with messages and parting words for friends and loved ones at home. I sent by one of them several numbers of Harper’s Weekly, which I wished sent to my wife, provided the authorities at Fortress Monroe do not pronounce them contraband. I also sent by another a letter concealed in his baggage, which I trust he will succeed in carrying safely through to Richmond. Owing to some cause, my Dixie correspondence has been cut off, and I have written for my letters in future to be directed to a lieutenant of my regiment who is here with me. I have received only one Dixie letter since I have been here, and I begin to feel at times that overwhelming sense of utter hopelessness and helplessness which thousands of others have felt here and elsewhere since this cruel war began, when for a long time deprived of any tidings from those whom they fondly love. The officer by whom my contraband letter is sent, however much he may suspect that he is in possession of such a letter, does not know the fact, but will make a careful search of his baggage upon his arrival in Richmond, and in case he finds any thing of that character, why he will know what to do with it. This may be called "whipping the devil around the stump," but under the circumstances, I hardly regard it as a very grave offense against good morals. The Yankees seem determined I shall receive no letters from those I love, and I have resolved that they at least shall hear from me. My friend, however, runs some risk in taking this letter, since should it be found, he will be held responsible; and it is this thought which gives me most trouble of mind.

FRIDAY, 7.

          The continued suppression of the details of Grant’s recent operations around Richmond is beginning to create alarm in the minds of the most sanguine Republicans. Washington is filled with gloomy reports—amongst others one to the effect that General Butler has been killed, which is altogether improbable, unless he was assassinated, for he is too base a villain ever to die an honorable death. The news from Missouri, too, is anything else than encouraging to the subjugationists, while a profound silence is maintained in regard to Forrest’s operations in Middle Tennessee. The near approach of the State elections in Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania is doubtless the chief reason why the censors of the press are so very reticent at this particular juncture. But it is an old adage that "murder will out." In spite of the silence and the downright lies which are published from day to day as occasion suits, gold has once more taken alarm in Wall street, and the Bulls are again in the ascendant. The success of Price in Missouri still continues, and is very wonderful. The whole State is represented as being at his mercy, expecting only the city of St. Louis and the adjacent country for forty miles around. For three years, the Federals have committed the most fiendish outrages in that unhappy State, but the day of retaliation has come at last, and it seems that the long-withheld sword of justice is now falling with heavy strokes upon the guilty necks of the murderers, ravishers, plunderers, and other heartless villains who lorded it over that helpless population with such a high hand only a few months ago. God in His own good time will yet bring the people of these Northern States to judgment, and woe be unto them when that day comes!

"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord."

SATURDAY, 8.

          It has been a most disagreeable day, snowing, sleeting, and raining alternately the whole time, with a cold wind blowing from the north. The great struggle has been to keep warm. As yet but few stoves have been brought into the prison, and the rooms so fortunate as to possess them have been crowded. My own little attic studio has been so filled with shivering rebels that I have had but little time to study. I trust the remainder of the stoves will be brought in next week, since there will be a great deal of suffering and consequent sickness if they are not.

          We have added one more attraction to our garret—a black kitten! He is the playfulest little fellow imaginable—jumps up on the table while we are engaged in a game of chess, knocking off rooks and knights as well as kings and queens with his tail—makes free with our short rations of meat and bread, and otherwise proves himself to be a kitten of no ordinary kind. He is destined to make a good mouser if he lives, and I shall endeavor to take him South with me when I go. He is black as midnight, and would suit admirably as the companion of some sage astrologer—that is to say, after he becomes demure and sober enough, for at present he is nothing more than a frolicsome, playful, mischievous young thing, whose feet are for ever catching at every stray wisp of straw or piece of paper, and who has an impudent and provoking way of jumping up on my shoulder at unlooked-for times, while I am writing or otherwise engaged, looking down upon my book or writing-paper with a quizzical twist of the head which is indescribably droll. He helps to while away many an hour which would otherwise hang very heavy and sad on my bands. I have named him Dick, a name he answers to with a knowing mew.

SUNDAY, 9.

          The pending State elections in Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania are now the absorbing topics of conversation. Mr. Lincoln is evidently uneasy, judging from the rigid censorship exercised over the press telegrams of late; and his supporters everywhere are any thing else than sanguine. To-day, however, the political priesthood of the North will devote themselves body and soul to helping Old Abe crush the Rebellion, unlike their Master (who was called the Prince of Peace), proving themselves to be the most earnest advocates of war, and the most active agents of the devil in the whole country. The Sandusky Register (and doubtless other Republican journals give their clerical friends similar advice) thus exhorts ministers of the gospel, in its issue of yesterday:

          "Do your highest duty, next to your God, to the country, to-morrow, and counsel, persuade, advise, command your flock to devote themselves, in the brief hours left us, to our country. Beseech them to save the American Republic—of all human institutions the most divine—by voting for the Union candidates on Tuesday next; and going not alone, but accompanied by one, two, three, or a score of their friends. They must be sure to vote. Every man must be on the ground."

          This is Yankee religion. The old Puritan heaven, which in England would not allow the Cavaliers to have a union of Church and State, but afterward established a much more odious theocracy, and which in New-England burned Quakers and Baptists for differing with them in opinion, has leavened the whole Yankee nation at last; and at this time, Beecher’s Gospel of Murder is the only orthodox faith. The man who would preach peace in the house of the Lord, who came as the Minister of Peace, would in all likelihood be arrested and sent to Fort Lafayette.

MONDAY, 10.

TUESDAY, 11.

          To-day an election for State officers has been held in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Indiana. The day has been extremely lovely–one of those stragglers from the files of June the poets so love to write about. Upon these elections, the more momentous presidential election of next month hinges more or less; for which reason, Mr. Lincoln, having the telegraph under his supreme control, has used it very industriously for a week past to make the people believe that the South is just on the eve of being finally and for ever "crushed." It was expected, therefore, that to-day’s telegrams would abound in some stupendous official falsehoods in regard to the military situation. Accordingly, Mr. Stanton, in a lengthy dispatch to General Dix, did attempt such a feat of official legerdemain, but it proved to be in reality a most impotent and lame conclusion. Even the Baron Munchausen Stanton found it a difficult matter to make a "splendid victory" out of Kantz’s defeat north of the James, or Burbridge’s repulse at Saltville, or to give to the military situation in Sherman’s rear or in Missouri a promising aspect. In spite of his official rose-water, and the utmost endeavors of the Bears, backed by the whole Federal treasury, gold still holds its own in Wall street; and if straws show which way the wind blows, this straw would indicate that Mr. Stanton’s bogus victories, as well as his brobdingnagian exaggerations of the inevitable "rebel deserter" (who seems of late to have usurped the place of the "reliable contraband"), have had but little effect upon the popular mind. However, there is no longer any need to speculate upon this subject, since to-day’s work is done, and done for all time. Doubtless we shall know to-morrow what destiny awaits the United States as well as the Confederate States for the next four years, as well as for generations to come.

WEDNESDAY, 12.

          The news from the elections of yesterday is very meagre and unsatisfactory, but the few reports given indicate a Democratic defeat. This result will insure the re-election of Abraham Lincoln in November next. If God has so decreed it, then I say, Amen! With or without the defeat of McClellan, I feel assured in my own mind that the honors of a real civil war are destined to visit these Northern States sooner or later. This conviction has possessed me for a number of years, and I have boldly promulged it ever since the secession war began. There are two parties in the North who are striving for the mastery–one the Democratic Party, representing law and constitutional rights; the other called the Republican party, and representing radicalism in all its forms. One or the other of these parties must go down. For nearly four years, the South, as the champion of constitutional liberty, has labored single-handed and against overwhelming odds to defend the noble fabric of the constitutional government. It is true we have had the secret sympathy of the Northern Conservatives, as the Democrats are called, but the day draws nigh when their own well-being will require of them some more substantial aids to us than a mere tender of their sympathies. Unless they deliberately resolve to sacrifice their own liberties, they will ere-long be forced to appeal from the ballot-box (which tyrants know well how to control) to the cartridge-box, which, in the hands of free-born men, can be used to overthrow the best-laid schemes of tyranny. This truth is old as the history of man, and Mr. Lincoln will yet learn it to his cost. Alas! Poor Yorick! Your days of gibes, and jests, and vulgar anecdotes will then be over! The handwriting is already on the wall, but you do not see it, and if you did, you would fail to understand its significance. Let your frantic admirers once again clothe you with the bloody purple of usurped authority: such robes of state befit you well for the doom that awaits you.

THURSDAY, 13.

          The election returns are still in a fog of uncertainty and contradiction. Ohio and Indiana have doubtless gone republican by large majorities, but Pennsylvania seems to be uncertain and is claimed by both parties. I think it probable this State has given a small Democratic majority on the "home vote," but the soldiers’ vote will give it over to the Republicans. Nevertheless, the situation is not altogether hopeless for the Democracy. McClellan may yet be elected, but I feel convinced he will never be allowed to take his seat. Mr. Lincoln’s followers have determined he shall be either President or Dictator until the Rebellion is put down, and they will never suffer a fair and honest election if they fear the success of the Democratic candidates. They have the soldiers’ votes in their own hands, and these are the loaded dice with which they can play at will against the best throws of their opponents.

          It is a beautiful moonlight night, and my gloomy reflections upon the situation of the country have been interrupted by the shouts and laughter of the Rat Club out of doors, engaged in their evening’s hunt. The cares of maternity have deprived them for the present of the services of Nellie, and they have now to depend upon their own exertions to secure the much-coveted game. Their most usual plan is, to deploy as skirmishers, each man armed with a club, and bear down upon the enemy while feeding on the garbage thrown into the sewers and elsewhere, smiting the unlucky longtails, hip and thigh, wherever found. They meet with considerable success almost every night, for the island is completely overrun with rats. The opportune arrival of our box from Philadelphia has for the present postponed our indulgence in this savory dish of the Celestials; but how long it will be before hunger forces us to it, I am at a loss just now to say, and fear to hazard a conjecture even.

FRIDAY, 14.

          There can now be very little doubt but that Pennsylvania has gone for the Democrats on the home vote. This troubles the Republicans very greatly, for they are evidently uneasy in regard to the future. But if the political situation is more promising than it has been heretofore, the military situation is also improving. The report this morning is, that Hood has captured Rome, getting thus completely in Sherman’s rear, which, if it be true, will probably lead, sooner or later, to the evacuation of Atlanta by its lately so boastful and jubilant captors. Price is also reported to be absolute master of the great State of Missouri, while twelve hundred of Forrest’s men, under Buford, are reported to have crossed over into Kentucky. Grant is still plotting and spading in front of Petersburg; but even the Yankees seem to have despaired of his accomplishing any practical results before the day of the presidential election. He may, and doubtless will, attempt to secure the two railroads leading into Petersburg from the South; but more than this that doughty chieftain will hardly attempt before another year, when he hopes to bring the new levies of this year into the field. Grant puts all his trust in brute numbers, and well he may, since he has little else to boast of. I regard him as one of the weakest of the Federal generals, and I can not conceive what sort of infatuation ever induced Mr. Lincoln to make him Commander-in-chief, unless it be accounted for upon the principle that a "fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind," Grant and Lincoln are made for each other—persevering, obstinate, narrow-minded fellows, with but one idea at a time, which they allow to control all their other thoughts and feelings, and which they follow blindly and recklessly to the end.

SATURDAY, 15.

          The election in Pennsylvania still remains a matter of dispute between the two parties, but the fact that capital is becoming alarmed once more would indicate that Mr. Lincoln’s policy is being regarded with mistrust. God went up ten cents in Wall street on yesterday, caused, as the censors of the Press gravely assure us, by reported disasters to Grant's army. It may be true that Grant’s army has met with disasters which are kept from the public, but as there is nothing later from Sherman or Price, I am inclined to suspect that news of disaster to other Federal armies besides General Grant’s may have had something to do with this sudden advance in the price of gold. Besides, it is highly probable that the complexion of the recent elections is hardly so rose-colored as was hoped for. The Democrats have gained everywhere except in Indiana, and the frauds in this State are so glaring that no doubt is entertained but the Democrats really polled a majority of the legal votes cast. In Indianapolis, the Republicans had a majority of over six thousand, the total vote polled being ten thousand, the total population of the place being only a little more than twenty thousand! In view of these facts, Mr. Belmont, as Chairman of the Democratic Executive Committee, has issued an address to the people, assuring them that such glaring frauds and any military interference in the presidential election will lead to civil war. In other words, the Democrats insist there shall be a free election or a free fight. If Mr. Lincoln is determined to be President at all hazards, his safer policy would be to allow of a peaceable election, since he could easily outcount the Democrats should they prove to be in the majority, the returns all having to pass through the hands of his adherents. I think the cunning William H. Seward will advise him to this policy, and Mr. Lincoln is only a pliant tool in the hands of his Premier.

SUNDAY, 16.

          To-day has been with me a melancholy day. To think, as I am forced to think, of the multitudes of the assumed ministers of Jesus Christ who have this day profaned the sanctuary of divine worship by hounding on their hearers to deeds of blood and iniquity, is by no means a pleasing reflection. The more I revolve the subject over in my mind, the more firmly I am convinced there is a day of fearful reckoning awaiting this Yankee nation—a day of blackness and devastation and death such as the France of '93 could hardly parallel. I can not see how else the leaven of unrighteousness and the subtle poison of fanaticism can ever be removed from the minds and hearts of the masses here, except it be through the instrumentality of a bloody civil war. The party now in power must be put down, no matter at what cost of blood and treasure, since otherwise there never can be again in the United States of America the least semblance of free government or of constitution liberty. Nothing but a consolidated though vulgar and despicable tyranny will remain, holding its unhallowed court upon the ruins of that once proud fabric of freedom which was the pride of our own land and the beacon-star of hope to all the rest of the world. However much others may doubt it, I can not refrain from cherishing a strong conviction that there is enough of manhood left in the North yet to save the nation from such a deplorable destiny. It may take time for the true friends of Republicanism there to organize for the conflict which they must see is inevitable, but that they will organize and afterward act as free-born men should, I can not, will not doubt for one moment. The independence of the South I regard as already achieved, but the independence of the North is yet to be won.

MONDAY, 17.

          Still no authentic news from Missouri. It is very remarkable how quietly Price has taken possession of that State; but the Lincoln government seems determined not to allow the people to learn the particulars of its reconquest. Louis Napoleon is not more supreme in his dominions than is Honest Old Abe in the great American Republic!

TUESDAY, 18.

Gold in New-York, 220.

          Among the many sensation rumors is one to the effect that Atlanta has been recaptured by the Confederates. This is evidently premature, but there can be no doubt but Hood has captured Dalton, and is now with his entire army in Sherman's rear. In consequence of this bold push of the rebel commander, there is great excitement in Chattanooga, and throughout the whole North country, in fact. Now is Hood's opportunity to achieve for himself lasting renown, and for his country very important results. What his designs are seem to be as yet shrouded in mystery; but from the recent speeches of President Davis, it is conjectured that an invasion of Tennessee is intended. The Yankees are evidently completely astounded, and the "Great Flanker" himself seems amazed at the audacity with which he has been beaten at his own game. Thinking the possession of Atlanta would end the year's campaign, Sherman had begun to make himself and army comfortable in their new position, feasting and dancing and otherwise making merry with the disreputable characters, black and white, male and female, left behind after the evacuation of the place by Hood. To be so rudely summoned from his "fairly won" repose to new dangers and difficulties, must be any thing else than pleasing to that sharp Yankee, who does not trust in God, but solely in numbers, guns, and pluck.

WEDNESDAY, 19.

          Surprises are not often here, for most of us have already seen so many of the vicissitudes of fortune, that we are prepared for almost any thing that may " turn up;" but I must confess to having been surprised exceedingly to-day—agreeably and disagreeably both. My eldest brother was brought in here a prisoner of war! He is a quartermaster, and was acting as division quartermaster with Wheeler on his late raid into Tennessee and North Alabama, at which time he was captured, and has been for some time an inmate of the Penitentiary at Nashville. He is with me to-night in my garret (which he will share with me in future), and the sad story he has told me of the wrongs and indignities heaped upon the conquered citizens of Tennessee and Alabama has given me the blue devils to such a degree that I am perfectly miserable. The blue-coated villains went to my father’s house, one night last winter, encountered my father’s sleeping apartment, and ordered him, an old man of seventy years, to get up and leave, as they desired to search the house for gold; and upon his refusing to comply with their orders, complaining that his health was too feeble, one of the ruffians drew a pistol and threatened to shoot him on the spot, which threat he doubtless would have carried into execution had not my mother that instant stepped between the would-be murderer and his helpless victim, and exclaimed, with a courage and nobility of soul which would have done honor to the matrons of old Rome in her best days: "Then kill me, too; for the ball that kills my husband must first pass through my body!" The heroic defender of the old flag had no respect for the gray hairs of a feeble old man, but the dauntless courage of a resolute woman unnerved his coward’s heart, and after robbing them of all he could put his hands on, he and his brother cut-throats left. At another time, some of these same heroic defenders of the Union seized two respectable girls, stripped them perfectly naked, and forced them to march in that condition a distance of two miles, at the point of their bayonets. And the bloody monster, General Paine, who has lately signalized his reign in Kentucky by the most savage murders and barbarities, ordered one of our boyhood’s friends and companions, John Massey, to be taken out and shot, without a trial, and without even having charges preferred against him. John’s conduct on this occasion was truly heroic. General Paine had him arrested and brought before him, and told him very abruptly that he should die in fifteen minutes, asking him at the same time if he had any preparations to make. Massey replied that he was guilty of no crime, had no preparations to make, and asked only not be shot in the public square, in the presence of the lady friends of his acquaintance. Paine then ordered him to be taken out of town and shot, with as much unconcern as if he had been a dog. Reaching the suburbs, Massey refused to advance further, but opening his shirt-bosom, called upon his murderers to aim well and make quick work of it. He was riddled with balls, and died almost without a groan. This was simple assassination; but while in the Nashville Penitentiary, my brother witnessed a much more horrible sight, if there can be any thing more horrible. One of the Dutch guards shot young Armstrong, of Tennessee, a brave and gallant soldier, placing the muzzle of his gun almost against his prisoner's head, and scattering his brains upon a fellow-prisoner standing by. The guard could hardly speak English, had no provocation whatever to commit this atrocious murder, and yet he was not reprimanded even for his conduct, while the murdered man was thrown out upon the ground like a dead dog, and suffered to lie there uncared for until his murderer saw fit to remove his corpse to Potter's-field. During my brother's confinement there, Lieutenant Mosely also, of Morgan County, Alabama, was hung inside the walls of the penitentiary as a guerrilla, and others were awaiting the executions of their sentences, while the gallant Captain Frank Gurley was, and still is, confined in a narrow cell, in solitary confinement.

          While I am thinking of these and a thousand other kindred outrages, which cry aloud to heaven for vengeance, I feel in my soul that God will yet visit the authors of such wickedness with a summary vengeance, bloody and savage enough to satisfy even the pious Beecher, of Sharp’s-rifles memory, who believes the proper way to Christianize mankind is to shoot the Gospel into every creature. No; their doom is sealed. The avenging Nemesis will yet overtake them; and although I strive at all times to cultivate a becoming forbearance toward my enemies, I can not help praying in my heart that God will speedily hasten the day when these triumphant assassins and ravishers—who are in truth the enemies of all mankind—shall be utterly removed from the face of the earth, root and branch. Thou Great Majesty of the Heavens! I know with Thee are the issues of life and death, of time and eternity, and I can not, will not doubt but Thou permittest these things, in Thy unsearchable wisdom, to endure for a season, only in the end more signally to manifest to the world that Thou art the Friend to the friendless, the Champion of the just and holy cause, and the Almighty Father of all true and faithful hearts, let them be tried never so sorely. I know, too, that the South has many sins to answer for, sins of omission as well as commission, and I do not doubt in the least but her people have deserved all the chastisements they have received; but when judgment begins with them, alas! what pen can describe the horrors of that punishment which awaits the vandals who have proven themselves to be as truly the "scourge of God" as was Attila or Alaric, with their innumerable hosts of Goths and Ostrogoths! I fear to contemplate the picture my fancy calls up.

THURSDAY, 20.

          There is still nothing reliable from Hood. His movements seem to be altogether incomprehensible to the enemy, and the authorities at Washington can not disguise their fears for the result, although they are at present whistling many boastful and triumphant airs through their newspaper organs, in order to keep up their own courage and that of the dear, deluded populace.

FRIDAY, 21.

          Mr. Stanton publishes to-day another one of his very veracious official bulletins, giving an account of a fight in the Valley of the Shenandoah, day before yesterday, between Sheridan and Longstreet, in which the latter was defeated; but from his own dispatch, I pronounce the fight a drawn battle, and that Sheridan was severely punished. The election is approaching too near at this time to permit any news damaging to Mr. Lincoln’s prospects to be made public. And yet, despite this official lying, which is now the rule rather than the exception at Washington, the truth somehow seems to find its way after a while, and I doubt not if the government is not really the loser in the end. Honesty even as a policy is unquestionably the best, after all. Mr. Lincoln will yet find out this homely truth.

          As the present momentous crisis in the history of America can never be truthfully reproduced in any history to be hereafter written, I have bought me a large scrap-book from the sutler, and for the next two months I purpose to fill it with the newspaper history of the times, which, if I can preserve it until the war is ended, will be of incalculable service to me hereafter, in aiding me to execute a design which I have conceived of since I have been a prisoner on this island. If I should not live to see the end of this struggle, it may be of service to those who do.

SATURDAY, 22.

          The winter has set in early. I awoke this morning to find the ground covered with snow to the depth of several inches. This unseasonable weather has found about two thirds of the prisoners without stoves, and it appears that Colonel Hill does not care if they never get any. One the Yankee roll-callers was overheard to say to his comrade, as the two gazed with a satanic smile upon the thinly-clad rebels standing in line (for we are now forced to stand in line until every man in the prison has been accounted for): "Oh! how I love to see the d——d rascals stand shivering as they do!" This humane fellow is evidently one of those pious, patriotic brethren whom Brother Beecher’s gospel has moulded into what he is—a cold-blooded villain, who wears the broadest sort of phylacteries, and daily thanks God that he is better than other men, more particularly Southern men, and who firmly believes that the true road to heaven itself is only a magnificent seraglio filled with thick-lipped African houris. I do not wish to be uncharitable, but I most sincerely desire that the necessities of the Yankee government will yet constrain this worthy Beecherite to march to the front. And yet I can not conceal from myself how vain is any such expectation. It is true the time may come when all such as he may be started to the front; but, alas! though they start a thousand times, yet will they never reach their destination unless driven to it at the point of a bayonet in the hands of a resolute provost guard. Such men are only fit to wage war upon defenseless women and children, and to guard prisoners, or else to remain at a safe distance in the rear, and speak brave words after the manner of Beecher, Cheever & Co.

SUNDAY, 23.

          The snow has all melted away, and, if any thing, the weather is more pleasant now than it was before the snow. The short rations to which we have lately been reduced are having the desired effect. Sickness is fearfully on the increase—not only here, but in all the prisons where our unfortunate soldiers are confined, and those who are not absolutely sick are reduced almost to skeletons. They can be seen wandering about at all hours, hollow-eyed, hollow-cheeked, with blotched and yellow skins, and a dreary, despairing look out of the eyes, which is most pitiable to behold. One poor fellow was seen here to-day carefully examining every pile of filth and garbage he could find, picking out the castaway crusts of bread, and devouring them with the greedy look of a hungry wolf. He seemed to be almost famished. God pity him and all like him! We—that is to say, les philosophes sur le tolt (as those of us who inhabit this garret are called)—are beginning at last to fell the cravings of hunger also. Our private supplies, which have held out remarkably well, are about exhausted now, and we have to content ourselves with the scanty crumbs which fall front our quondam Uncle Samuel's table. It seems to me that I must have fallen off five pounds in the last ten days. If I continue thus to lose my flesh in the same ratio for six months longer, I shall not be greatly surprised to see my unfortunate corpus resolve itself into its original essences, and imperceptibly vanish away to mingle with the unsubstantial shades of the other world. But it is to be hoped that Mr. Davis will come to some agreement with the Washington government before that time, which will cause us to be better fed and cared for than we are at present.

MONDAY, 24.

Gold, 213.

          Nothing later from Sheridan, but the Wall-street financiers evidently do not regard his recent fight with Early (not Longstreet) as by any means a brilliant victory. So too there is nothing later from Hood—nothing from Grant; but one of the most stunning of "officials" from Missouri, giving an account of the defeat of Price, and the capture of a large number of prisoners. Very little credence is given this announcement, and very little credence will be placed in any thing to be published in the Yankee press, from now until the day of election. Mr. Lincoln seems determined, as he says, "to manage his own side in his own way," and his chief hope of success is in his ability to out-lie the peace men, since the telegraph is completely under his control.

* * * * * * * * * * *

TUESDAY, 25.

          Received a letter from another sister of mine in Missouri, offering to send me supplies if permission should be granted her. I have already found a sister in Kentucky, an aunt in Cincinnati, and cousins innumerable, since I have been here (at least they claim to be such, although I never saw the faces of one of them), and they all offer to help me by every means in their power. It is thus that the friends of the South in the North seek to manifest their sympathy for those who are "sick and in prison," suffering in behalf of the sacred cause of constitutional liberty. While Beecher and his followers are preaching up the holiness of murder, these gentle ministers of love and charity silently tread in the footsteps of the Great Master, seeking to do good as "they have opportunity." Verily they shall have their reward in due season.

WEDNESDAY, 26.

          Perhaps in nothing else does the North more unmistakably evince the radical change which four years of war have brought about in the sentiment of its people than in its literature. N. P. Willis warns his countrymen that the change which has come over their physiognomy is ominous of the future, but he says nothing of the change which has come over their literature. Perhaps he dare not; such boldness could not well be expected of a carpet knight like Willis. Harper's Weekly, falsely called a "Journal of Civilization," is now nothing other than a rabid abolition sheet, and its literary editor is a genuine slag-whanger of the most orthodox abolition school. Its pictures of the South are lying caricatures, its editorials are hardly respectable as pettifogging ex-parte misrepresentations of facts, and fierce appeals to the passions and prejudices of its readers; while its literary columns are devoted almost exclusively to Cuffee. Cuffee is, indeed, at present the idol of the loyal Republican mind. Mr. Beecher has publicly announced that, until the election is over, he intends to devote his Sabbaths to political harangues from his pulpit in Brooklyn, while his pious audiences greet his sacrilegious utterances with thunders of applause, thus rendering to the devil the incense of their praise, even in the sanctuary devoted to the worship of God! So, too, Mr. Edward Everett has declared himself for Lincoln and the subjugation of the South, and now labors under an incurable attack of negrophobia. I see some of the Northern newspapers express surprise at the fall of Everett, but they should not. Mr. Everett began life a minister of the Gospel; he forsook his God for the vanities of this world, and this last change is in perfect keeping with his previous history.

THURSDAY, 27.

          The present I conceive to be the most important epoch in the history of America certainly, if not of the world; and a greater will not arise for centuries to come. The Yankees seem to so regard it also, and hence evince a morbid sensibility in regard to the figure they will be made to cut in history as it will be written in after-times. In order to place themselves right before the eyes of posterity, they already have in course of publication, numerous voluminous histories of the Great Rebellion, written by such men as Horace Greeley, Abbott, Everett, Headley, and others—all bitterly partisan, and necessarily inaccurate and worthless; and yet they declare (and doubtless are credulous enough so to believe) that the truth of history will be vindicated by such authors! They forget that the staunch old loyalist and eminent writer, Dr. Johnson, as firmly believed that the then living wits of England would write the true and impartial history of the wicked American Rebellion; and yet how sadly did he and those who believed as he did mistake their reckoning! And so will it be with the Abbotts, Greeleys, Everetts, et id omne genus, of to-day. No writers, however famous, can give to an infamous cause posthumous renown, for in the end truth and justice will be heard, however much the voice of passion may drown their utterance for the time being. The proper historian of the present struggle is doubtless now living, but the time to write his history has not yet come. Years hence, after the good knights have all laid off their armor, and the peaceful marts of trade no longer are disturbed with war’s alarms, then may he, in the quiet of his own closet, devote himself to his great work.

FRIDAY, 28.

          From some cause, the Yankees are very remiss in bringing in the rest of the stoves, and as the weather is getting to be very cold, many of the prisoners, in default of stoves, are busy building in their rooms furnaces of brick or rock, which are found to answer very well as temporary expedients. Even those who are blessed with stoves, in order to avoid eating in our cheerless dining-hall, have built a rude oven underneath their stoves, and these "confederates," as they are called, answer very well to bake what few rations are now issued. We built one underneath our stove to-day, and are now prepared to cook, eat, sleep, and study in our little garret, without the fear of the Yankees before our eyes.

SATURDAY, 29.

          There is nothing from Hood or Price, and no change reported in the military situation in Virginia; but there is some good news to us poor captives notwithstanding. A dispatch from Washington announces that Grant and Lee have agreed to an arrangement by which the prisoners of both sides will be supplied with necessaries by their respective governments—the Confederates being privileged to procure those intended for their prisoners, in Canada or elsewhere. It is thought that this arrangement will ultimately lead to the opening of the sutler’s store—a consummation most devoutly hoped for. We are famishing now daily for lack of nutritious food in sufficient quantities. Even while I pen these lines, I am so hungry that I feel wolfish. The whole conversation of the prison now runs upon something good to eat. One’s imagination, from morning until night, and even his visions upon his bed, teem with recollections of the good things he has eaten during his past life.

SUNDAY, 3.

          I have learned pretty thoroughly by this time how to conjugate the verb to hunger in all its moods and tenses. I am hungry all the time, although I still have plenty of coffee and tea, in addition to the rations furnished by the Yankees, which ninety-nine out of a hundred of our prisoners have not. There never was such deliberate cruelty practiced before by any people claiming to be civilized as is now practiced by the Yankees toward us—starving us in the midst of plenty, even while they hold up their hands in holy horror at the outrages which they claim are perpetrated upon their prisoners in the South. Woe unto you, hypocrites! for God will yet bring you into judgment.

MONDAY, 31.

          Dr. Eversman, the Yankee surgeon in charge of this post, comes in once a week to examine the sick who wish to apply to their friends in the North for supplies. I attended his levee this morning for the first time, and it was very humiliating to see this Yankeeized Dutchman tyrannizing over gallant gentlemen placed by the accidents of war at his mercy. While he refuses to allow many men who are really sick to send after necessary supplies, there are some Dutch Jews in the prison, who are perfectly well, whom he permits to send after what they please and as often as they please. He seems to have a particular spite against such as are too proud to court his favor by any little meannesses. This is a peculiarity, indeed, of all the Yankees now in authority—they sewn to have a holy horror of every thing which smacks of the gentleman, while they are ever ready to countenance and to reward the groveling and the base. Bah!

NOVEMBER.

TUESDAY, 1.

          Grant’s recent "reconnoissance in force" before Petersburg and Richmond has produced no little uneasiness in Wall street, despite his assurances, in the official dispatch of Stanton, that it was a complete success. Gold advanced ten cents yesterday, closing at 229.

WEDNESDAY, 2.

          Gold closed at 246 last night. There is a panic in Wall street once more, produced by Grant’s late "success." It may be, too, that the report of Hood’s having crossed the Tennessee has had something to do with this fright among the Bulls and Bears of the money market. The military situation is very favorable to the Confederates at this time, but it is hard to tell what is the aspect of the political situation in the North.

THURSDAY, 3.

          Lieut.-Colonel Scovill, the prison superintendent, visited me in my attic sanctum to-day, somewhat to my surprise, for I was not aware that the Yankees knew of the existence of such a room. He was very pleasant, however, during his stay of half an hour, wishing doubtless to convince me that he had a proper contempt for the scurvy fellow who informed him of my contraband retreat. He even assured me that I shall be furnished with wood for my stove, thus freeing me from one of the chief difficulties with which I have had to contend hitherto. I do not envy the feelings of the poor informer who sent Colonel Scovill to look up my hiding-place, now that he finds I have really gained by his meanness of spirit. Alas! how often is one reminded of Æsop's fable of the dog in the manger!

FRIDAY, 4.

          There is an ominous dearth of news in to-day’s papers. Nothing from Hood, Price, or Grant. The papers are filled, however, with Copperhead conspiracies, recently exposed, and the voting frauds said to have been attempted by the New-York State agents appointed to procure the votes of the New-York soldiers in the army of the Potomac. It is now evident that Old Abe will be reëlected, if not by fair means, then by foul. A severe snow-storm is raging to-night.

SATURDAY, 5.

          Some of Hood’s officers, captured near Decatur, Ala., have reached here. They report that Hood has his entire army with him, and that the troops were never in better spirits. The Yankees permit no news to be telegraphed from Tennessee since Hood crossed the river in North Alabama, and nothing is known of the situation there. The Cincinnati Commercial intimates that Sherman intends leaving Thomas to confront Hood, white he proceeds with five corps d’armée to penetrate the interior of Georgia.

          Generals Marmaduke and Cabell and four colonels, recently captured in Missouri, have arrived. They report that Price lost about two thousand men while in the State, but took out nearly ten thousand recruits, besides an immense quantity of spoils. His retreat was caused, indeed, chiefly by the numbers of unarmed men in his command, and his newly gathered supplies which he wished to secure. At what point Price will next be heard from is now a matter of much speculation, though the prevailing opinion seems to be that his destination is Little Rock, where the Yankee General Steele has held undisputed sway too long already.

MONDAY, 7.

          No news from any quarter. Gold still going up.

TUESDAY, 8.

          To-day has been the most momentous day in the history of America. Contrary to public expectation, Mr. Stanton did not issue his usual flaming bulletins, giving account of the usual number of "Federal successes." Mr. Lincoln has determined to be reëlected; and doubtless felt that he need not resort to such transparent artifices. On the contrary, he sent Beast Butler to New-York City to control matters in that military district, has quartered some twenty-five thousand hireling soldiers upon poor Maryland, and under the pretext of protecting his Northern borders from Canada raids, has everywhere made the civil subservient to the military authority. The consequence is, he has been to-lay reëlected, I doubt not. Little Mac hadn’t the ghost of a chance.

          But the election is over—the last great paper battle on this continent has been fought, and Despotism has ere this triumphed over Democracy. It has been a wet, dismal, dreary day, but not more so than was the same day four years ago. I cast that day my first vote, and was also one the judges of election in the State of Illinois, and became so disgusted with the evidence I then witnessed of the desecration of the ballot-box—drunken foreigners voting, who could not speak a word of English, and whose tickets were changed in my presence without their knowledge—as well as made sick from the fumes of tobacco-smoke, lager beer, whisky, etc., I was barely able to reach home. I was then a Douglas Democrat, and feared that the result to the Union of Mr. Lincoln’s election. With regards to his reëlection, I am wholly indifferent. The past four years are rendered glorious by the sacrifices of a brave people struggling for constitutional liberty; and no true believer in a just God can now fear for the result in the four years which are yet to come.

WEDNESDAY, 9.

          A terrible storm is blowing to-night. Owing to the meagre dispatches in the papers, it is difficult to determine the result of the election yesterday, but the indications are that Mr. Lincoln has been reëlected. This result will surprise but few. It was expected, and is best for the South, but no lover of free institutions can fail to deplore that the United States are to be cursed with his bloody rule four years more.

THURSDAY, 10.

          There can no longer be any doubt in regard to the result of the election. The Yankees have not had enough of blood, but, like the Jews before Pontius Pilate, are still clamorous for more shedding of innocent blood. Perhaps, like them, too, they are willing to say, "Let this blood rest upon us and our children." Amen! I respond, and I am willing to leave the issue entirely with God.

FRIDAY, 11.

          The Democrats seem to take their defeat very quietly, seeming to be completely paralyzed. They do not yet comprehend the full meaning of this election. After a while, they will open their eyes, and will then perceive that it portends to them the most ignominious degradation, unless they will dare to strike as free men should in freedom's cause. Most of my fellow-prisoners seem to doubt their courage and resolution, but I know too well the stuff of which they are made to doubt for one moment what impends in the future.

SATURDAY, 12.

          The air is thick with rumors—among others that Sherman has burned Atlanta, and is "marching on" to Savannah or Charleston. What Hood is doing seems hard to ascertain since Forrest destroyed the boats and supplies at Johnsonville. Gold, however, still keeps up to early 250. We shall see what we shall see in a few days.

SUNDAY, 13.

          Another snow-storm.

          I see that Mr. Lincoln and W. H. Seward have again been amusing the dear people with pleasant promises of an early and glorious peace! Mr. Seward was evidently quite "mellow" on the occasion, and was so good as to predict that four years hence, Richmond will be as docile and gentle as Baltimore (which God in His mercy forbid!) Four years ago, this same Mr. Seward predicated that the Union would be restored in sixty days. A great prophet is this Seward, verily. He should be called St. Seward by the faithful who believe in War Beecher and the Holy Rifles.

MONDAY, 14.

          At this time, the prospect of remaining here this winter seems to be pretty good, however gloomy. Although I do not get half enough to eat, I have determined not to spend my time here idly, for my youth is passing away too rapidly to allow of the wasting of so many priceless hours. Beginning with to-day, I shall strive to devote my mind to useful studies during the rest of my imprisonment.

TUESDAY, 15.

          The continued silence in regard to Hood’s and Sherman’s movements has given rise to many rumors. It is pretty well agreed, however, that Sherman has started upon some wild and hazardous adventure with a large portion of army; while the impression prevails that Beauregard quietly waiting at Florence and Corinth for General Sherman to develop his plans. It is evident that the close of the remarkable campaign of this year is to be the most exciting part of it. Expectation is now everywhere on tiptoe, both in the North and the South, awaiting the developments of the next few days and weeks. May God defend the right!

WEDNESDAY, 16.

          In the midst of the almost universal darkness of the present hour, one bright gleam of humanity is seen in the pending exchange of ten thousand prisoners from each side, at Savannah, Ga. It is hoped that this may lead eventually to a general exchange, so soon as the present campaign is ended—that is, if it should end this winter. Still, we have many fears, for it seems too much of happiness realize that we are to be freed once more from this thraldom, and allowed the inestimable boon of treading the soil of Dixie, "land of the free and the brave."

THURSDAY, 17.

          It seems a vain endeavor to get any thing to eat now, "by hook or by crook." Awhile back, one could bribe the Yankees to bring in coffee, sugar, and such little delicacies, "underground," but not now. Colonel Hill being absent, the post is now commanded by a Lieutenant-Colonel Palmer, at one time a cab-driver and New-York pimp, and afterward police detective, whose natural instincts lead him to regard us as criminals, whom he must watch as well as guard. Colonel Hill, with the education of a gentleman, could not stoop to pry into such small matters, but this upstart Palmer pries into every thing, and even has his commissioned officers searched upon entering or returning from the prison-yard. He has also caused the express-boxes for the sick to be examined outside, and confiscates about one half the articles received. Meanwhile, Dr. Eversman has ceased to approve one fifth the applications made to him by the sick, and the consequence is, we see nothing before us for some time now but starvation. It is hoped that the agreement between Lee and Grant will after a while help us some, but meanwhile we must endure all the horrors of a never-ceasing hunger.

FRIDAY, 18.

          The suffering in the prison gets worse day by day. The men are beginning to have fits, biting their tongues, and in some instances grinding out their teeth in their convulsions. They are all nearly famished, in fact. The Confederate surgeons who have been voluntarily attending at the hospital have written a strong protest to the commanding officer outside, laying before him the condition of the prisoners. They show that no healthy man can well subsist upon less than thirty-eight ounces of food per day, while Colonel Hoffman only allows thirty-four ounces to be issued as the prison ration, while the prisoners confined here get in reality only twenty-eight ounces. This protest may accomplish the desired result, but I hardly think it will.

SATURDAY, 19.

          The Yankees doubtless believe that Southerners have no rights which they are bound to respect. In 1860, I published a book in New-York, called Social Relations in Our Southern States, and perceive that Mr. Edmund kirk, alias Gilmore, has recently published a book, called Down in Tennessee, in which appear many passages stolen from my work, and boldly appropriated as his own. This plagiarism, while it flatters my vanity somewhat, has awaked my pride as an author, and the consequence is, I have written a letter to the Hon. Ben Wood, of the New-York News, complaining of Mr. Gilmore’s conduct, and requesting him to call attention to the matter in his paper. I am inclined to doubt whether the Yankees will ever mail my letter outside, but if they do, I think it highly probable that Mr. Edmund Kirk will experience a greater shock than he did on his visit to President Davis with Colonel Jacques.

SUNDAY, 20.

          The weather is almost like May. It is reported, however, that heavy rains are prevailing in the South. General Sherman has not been heard from as yet, either at Richmond or Washington; but it can not be many days now before something will be known of his whereabouts. An equal silence is likewise maintained in regard to Beauregard’s movements. It may be the calm that precedes the storm. We shall soon see.

MONDAY, 21.

          The great mystery of Beauregard and Sherman is still unsolved, although the Yankee papers are filled with speculations in regard thereto, and indulge in their customary boastings as to the developments soon to take place.

TUESDAY, 22.

          The weather has turned suddenly very cold. Nothing reliable from Sherman, but as gold has begun to advance again, it is thought that unfavorable news is anticipated. The news of Breckinridge’s defeat of Gillem in East Tennessee is the only reliable news in the papers from any of the armies in the field.

WEDNESDAY, 23.

          Richmond papers of the 20th have been received at Washington, but they contain nothing in regard to Sherman or Beauregard, and this circumstance seems to give the Yankee government much comfort. The censors assure the dear people that the Confederate government have suppressed the good news, and that no doubt the conquering hero is marching on! Well, he is doubtless marching on—to the end of his career, and a most inglorious one I predict for him, too.

THURSDAY, 24.

          The Yankees have devoted to-day to their annual Thanksgiving and eating of turkeys and other good things. They have feasted and made merry to-day throughout all their borders, while their armies in the South are laying waste with fire and sword the homes of an innocent people, who ask only to be allowed to live in peace under their own rulers. It is yet to be seen how long the Almighty Father will endure such blasphemy and Phariseeism.

FRIDAY, 25.

          The cold spell is over, and we may now look out for rain. We have had an unusual excitement in the prison to-day, occasioned by the election of a commissioner to go to New-York, under the Grant-Lee arrangement, to Procure supplies of clothing for rebel prisoners. The prospect of being paroled and sent off on such an expedition was so fascinating, a great many offered themselves as candidates to fill the position, and it was determined the matter should be decided by a free ballot, which was accordingly held. Previous to the balloting, the prisoners assembled in front of Block 7, and the candidates were called upon for speeches, which were delivered somewhat after the fashion of the political stump-speeches of other days, much to the amusement and entertainment of the crowd. It was evident, from the beginning, however, that Colonel Fite, of Tennessee, would run ahead of all competitors, he having been one of our most active chiefs of Mississippi, and he was elected without any trouble.

SATURDAY, 26.

          There is no doubt now but that Sherman is in the heart of Georgia, while it is equally certain that Hood is moving into Middle Tennessee. The situation is a very critical one at this juncture, but I have an abiding faith in God’s providence, and I sincerely believe that the result of the present momentous campaign will redound to the honor and the material advantage of the Southern Confederacy.

SUNDAY, 27.

          Have read to-day the sermons delivered from the pulpits in New-York City on Thanksgiving-Day, and also one from Dr. Minegerode, of Richmond, published in the News, and said to have been delivered on the occasion of the Confederate Thanksgiving. The marked contrast between the spirit which pervades the latter discourse and that which animated the New-York political divines, is a striking evidence of the great difference between the two nations. In the South, God is still reverenced as the great Ruler of nations as well as of the universe; in the North, He is graciously acknowledged to be capable of doing many wonderful things, provided the universal Yankee nation did not find themselves competent to take care of their own affairs in their own way. In the South, His correcting hand is seen in their present chastisement, and humbly acknowledged; in the North, no chastisement is thought to be deserved, and therefore they thank God devoutly that they are better than other men, and eat their fat turkeys and other good things with a pious unction worthy of the most self-complacent Pharisees of other days. Well, there is a God who rules in the affairs of men, despite these bigoted infidels and sacrilegious Goths, and they will yet find it so to their confusion and dismay. For His own wise purposes, He has seen fit to hide His face for a brief season, but the thunderbolts of His vengeance will fall yet, and in the right place.

MONDAY, 28.

          It is truly heart-rending to read even the Yankee accounts of the burning of towns and country residences by the brutal Sherman just before starting out on his present great enterprise, whatever it may prove to be. He seems to have been inspired with the spirit of the vandal Huns and Visigoths who laid waste the south of Europe during the Middle Ages. I can not endure to dwell upon his inhuman acts of barbarism.

TUESDAY, 29.

          Received by express my suit of clothes from my Kentucky sister. It is an excellent suit of gray, and could not have come more opportunely than at the present time. I should give a great deal to know in reality who this sister of mine is.

          The news is glorious. The Yankees have evacuated nearly all of Tennessee and all of North Alabama, Hood pressing them too close to Nashville to allow them to scatter their forces. The prospect is indeed very flattering that Hood will yet possess himself of all Tennessee, while Sherman is rushing into the meshes of a net which may yet convince him that God Almighty’s overcoat will. "make a vest for General Sherman." The Yankees are evidently uneasy, and in their desperation have, with true Yankee meanness, sunk the Florida, to avoid restoring her to the Confederates, as they felt convinced the public sentiment of the civilized world would yet force them to do. Of course they pretend that the unlucky cruiser was accidentally sunk, but under the circumstances, none but those willing to believe such a story will be such fools as to do so. But thank God, quem Deus vult perdere priusquam dementat. This act of Yankee shrewdness will yet redound to the advantage of the Confederates; for all the civilized nations can not now fail to honor the latter for refusing to live under the dominion of so mean a race—willing to disregard the laws of nations, and yet too craven to rectify the wrong they are forced to acknowledge they have committed.

          WEDNESDAY, 30.

          Three or four prisoners were brought here to-day from Rock Island. They report that the prisoners at the latter place are absolutely starving to death. The rations issued to them are only eight ounces of bread and five ounces meat per day. The consequence is, the poor fellows, to avoid starvation, are taking the oath in large numbers, and joining the Yankee army of the frontier to fight the Indians. And yet the Yankee press just now is raising a most dismal howl over the return of the prisoners from Andersonville, Ga., who give terrible accounts of their sufferings. Then why, O ye Pharisees, hypocrites! do you not consent to a general exchange, and thereby release all your own men from confinement, and at the same time relieve your pious minds of the horror of retaliating upon the unfortunate Southern soldiers now in your hands? Do you think, vipers that you are, that God will permit such as you to always go unwhipped of justice?

          DECEMBER.

THURSDAY, 1.

          As the prospect of a speedy exchange seems to be very dim at this time, I am now devoting myself to the study of French and German. The French I already have a pretty good knowledge of, but as I have to study the German without an instructor, I experience no little difficulty at times in the pronunciation and construction of it. However, there is nothing like perseverance; and exchange or no exchange, so long as I remain on this island, I am determined to "peg away," as Mr. Lincoln so euphoniously expresses it, at my German and French, besides employing myself otherwise as occasion may serve.

FRIDAY, 2.

          There is nothing later from Sherman. The news from Hood is good, despite the Yankee version of it. Day before yesterday, a severe engagement took place at Franklin, in which the Yankees assert that the Confederates were repulsed, with the loss of one thousand prisoners; but as the Yankees immediately evacuated Franklin, retreating to Nashville during the following night, followed by our troops, who engaged their skirmish line almost in sight of the city on yesterday, I am inclined to read the official telegrams from Nashville with many grains of allowance. Hood and Forrest will yet convince General Thomas that Nashville is not his proper base, or I am greatly mistaken.

SATURDAY, 3.

          Nothing further from Sherman or Thomas. The Yankees are evidently greatly alarmed, and are doing every thing in their power to conceal it, but, like burning stubble, the more it is fanned the more it flames. The telegrams are more than usually prophetic of great victories on the eve of achievement, and the newspaper writers are more emphatic than ever in their assurances to their readers that the Rebellion is on its last legs, etc., etc. But somehow the people do not respond to these very flattering promises. In vain does Bennett, of the New-York Herald, labor through column after column to prove that, as General Scott is reported to have said at one time, there is nothing left now for Mr. Lincoln to do other than to resort to "a liberal but judicious system of hanging," to end the great Rebellion in sixty days.

          Gold is still firm and tending upward; recruits can not be obtained for love or money; drafted men will desert, and the veterans, as their terms of enlistment expire, prefer to return home to the peaceful pursuits of civil life. Meanwhile, the one absorbing question is, Where is Sherman?

SUNDAY, 4.

          The Cincinnati papers (on which we depend for the latest news on Sundays) failed to come to-day, and consequently we have nothing later from Nashville. The New-York News, received to-day, contains my letter exposing J. R. Gilmore's plagiarism from my book, and now I await to see what Mr. Edmund Kirk will have to say for himself. I predict that he will have nothing to say.

MONDAY, 5.

          The Yankees begin at last to let out a little of the truth in regard to the fight at Franklin, and that little suffices to prove that the Confederates were victors.

TUESDAY, 6.

          The officers (117) captured at Franklin reached here last night. They report that we captured in that fight at least two thousand of the enemy, losing only about seven hundred prisoners altogether, officers and men. They give very encouraging accounts, of Hood’s success and prospects.

          The Washington authorities have published a telegram announcing that Sherman has reached the coast. As usual, no one believes the announcement, and gold still remains firm.

WEDNESDAY, 7.

          Very little later intelligence from any quarter. Gold is still tending upwards in New-York City.

THURSDAY, 8.

          It turned suddenly very cold yesterday—the thermometer showing 8 deg. above zero—and the consequence is, no boat has crossed over from Sandusky to-day, owing to the masses of floating ice. If the wind should lull, the bay would certainly freeze over, and then, ho! for Canada!

FRIDAY, 9.

          The weather is something milder, and the boat came over to-day. Nothing definite from Sherman. Hood has planted his batteries on the river, south of Nashville, and can not be dislodged by the Federal gunboats. The Yankees are much concerned to find out what his ulterior designs are.

SATURDAY, 10.

          It has again turned exceedingly cold, and the bay is rapidly freezing over. No boats can be expected for some time. Now is the time to effect an escape, and I have been busy to-day making the necessary preparations. I have supplied myself with a scaling-ladder, blanket, overshoes, hood, etc. When I shall make the attempt, God only knows, and I leave the result entirely in His hands.

SUNDAY, 11.

          Weather intensely cold. The thermometer will about touch zero to-night. Wind blowing furiously, and if the lake were entirely frozen over, I would hardly hope for a better opportunity to attempt an escape. But I shall wait and hope.

MONDAY, 12.

          The lake is frozen over solid! I have made every thing ready for leaving to-night, but the moon shines too brightly, and I hardly think I shall run the hazard. I do not wish to be recaptured and brought back to this living tomb, and consequently I do not intend attempting an escape until I feel that a suitable occasion presents itself. There are some bold and desperate spirits in this prison, however, who will doubtless make the attempt to-night, in spite of the evident hazard of such an enterprise while the sky is cloudless and the moon at the full, to say nothing of the numberless lamps on the prison-wall, always kept burning at night, and leaving nothing inside the wall in shadow.

TUESDAY, 13.

          Alas! as I feared; some daring fellows did attempt an escape last night, which miscarried, although they certainly deserved success for their boldness. A band of twenty-odd of them, armed with stones simply, deployed as skirmishers about midnight and charged upon the west wall of the prison, forcing the sentinels to run away from their posts, and then planting scaling-ladders against the wall, before the sentinels could recover from their fright and surprise, four of the prisoners succeeded in getting over the wall; but only four—the others were fired on so hotly that, after one of them had been shot dead, they were forced to retire. The officer killed was Lieutenant Bowls, son of the president of the Louisville Bank, and a gallant and meritorious gentleman. The Yankees then roused the whole island with their yells and shouts for help, when the signal-gun was fired, and for a while the sound of fire-arms sounded almost like a skirmish. The signal-gun aroused the citizens on the Peninsula (as it is called), who turned out with their double-barreled shot-guns, and succeeded in arresting the four officers who had sealed the wall and safely crossed the bay, since these had no suspicion that danger awaited them from that quarter. The Yankees seem to be very proud of their achievements last night, especially those of them who have never visited the front. They seem to think it a very glorious affair to shoot down an unarmed prisoner. To-night they are very exacting, and will hardly allow one to visit the sinks, to attend to the calls of nature, without bawling out to him to return to his quarters; while the rumbling of their artillery would indicate that they are putting the guns in position to fire into the prison upon the least alarm. I fear my projected escape is postponed for some time by this unlucky affair of last night.

WEDNESDAY, 14.

          The cold weather continues. The lake is still frozen over, or rather the bay, and as I gaze out of my little window at the skaters, so merry and free, I feel more keenly than ever the shackles which bind me. With God’s help, I am determined to leave this prison, but when or how is more than I can tell. The Yankees are now on the qui vive, and I fear there is no chance to escape during the present freeze.

THURSDAY, 15.

          Cold weather still continues. No news of importance in the papers, which are now brought over on the ice. Our rations are also brought over in the same way, although, on the first trip, a day’s rations of beef broke through the ice, and we had to go without, the Yankees refusing to make good the loss.

FRIDAY, 16.

          Gold continues to fluctuate between 2.35 and 2.40. The Yankee Congrees are getting somewhat excited over the release of the St. Albans raiders in Canada, and General Dix is out in a flaming order on the subject. Brother Jonathan and John Bull seem about to get up a little fight, which is a consummation most devoutly to be wished for.

SATURDAY, 17.

          Thomas and Hood have had another fight at Nashville, in which the Yankees claim the victory. Sherman is reported to have communicated with the fleet off Savannah, which has produced great joy in the "loyal mind." And yet gold is firm and higher—a significant comment of the above report from Sherman.

SUNDAY, 18.

          The prisoners have been in a terrible state of suspense to-day, hearing nothing further from the fighting around Nashville. There is some little demoralization manifested to-night by the weaker brethren.

MONDAY, 19.

          The news from Hood is very bad. Despite the evident exaggeration of General Thomas's dispatches and the press telegrams, it is yet quite evident that Hood has suffered a disastrous defeat. It is a very unfortunate blow, coming as it does on the heels of Sherman’s too successful march to the coast.

TUESDAY, 20.

          A furious snow-storm has been blowing all of to-day, and is still raging. I made an attempt to-night to escape, clothing myself all in white, hoping thus to elude the vigils of the sentinels, but I soon became convinced that the attempt would be vain, and so desisted from it. Those lamps shine too brightly. I remained out in the cold nearly an hour, concealed in one of the privies, and came near frightening a brother rebel out of his wits. I do not think I ever saw a man so badly scared in my life. He ran upon me unawares, standing there as still as a statue, and taking me for a ghost or "goblin damned," roared out in a perfect agony of fright. It was this adventure in part which determined me to desist from my proposed plan of escape, since it was evident the sentinels on the wall had heard my fellow-prisoner’s outcry, and, suspecting that something was wrong, seemed afterward to walk their posts with redoubled diligence. It had been my purpose to steal up to the wall under one of the lamps, and cut a hole through the wall with a gimlet and small saw. I do not now see how I am to escape unless I can tunnel out, which promises but a poor prospect of success, owing to the ditches inside the wall, reaching down to the stratum of rock which everywhere underlies the soil at the depth of only a few feet.

WEDNESDAY, 21.

          The news from Tennessee is very bad. In spite of Yankee bluster and exaggeration, I am convinced that another Mission Ridge disaster has overtaken our arms on the luckless and bloody field of Tennessee. I can not bear to think of the subject. Gold is tumbling in New-York.

THURSDAY, 22.

          Over three hundred officers, recently captured in Tennessee, reached here to-night. They were in a sad plight, having been nearly starved on their way here, besides being nearly frozen, owing to the coldness of the weather and their lack of necessary clothing. Some of them are badly frost-bitten; most of them are more or less demoralized, and their doleful accounts of Hood’s mismanagement have terribly demoralized the bull-pen. I have no patience with such officers, and am more determined than ever to get off this island, if God, in His infinite wisdom and goodness, should so will it.

FRIDAY, 23.

          As a good many of the officers recently brought in have on Yankee pants, I think I can now manage to secure me a Yankee suit out and out. At all events, I shall try. Captain McKibbin, of my regiment, has again secured himself a full suit, making accoutrements also out of black oil-cloth, and intends attempting to pass out with the roll-callers to-morrow morning. I think the chances are that he will succeed. He has passed out of the prison-yard twice in disguise since I have been here, but was each time recaptured and brought back. I trust better fortune may attend him on to-morrow. He certainly deserves to succeed.

SATURDAY, 24.

          Sure enough, McKibbin succeeded again in passing out in disguise, and as he has not been brought back, no doubt is now entertained but he has succeeded in making his escape. Encouraged by his success, I have managed to procure to-day a full Yankee suit, and have also made me a set of accoutrements, and to-morrow morning I hope to escape also, provided the fact of McKibbin’s escape can be kept a secret from the Yankees. The longer I remain here, the more worthless I feel I am daily becoming. No caged lion ever chafed more at being confined than I do, and only the more so now that the campaign is about to close rather disastrously to our arms.

SUNDAY, 25.

          Christmas! Alas! I had hoped last night to spend this day elsewhere than in prison, but God has willed otherwise. The Yankees discovered this morning that McKibbin was missing, and soon Colonel Hill had every body on the qui vive, and consequently I soon satisfied myself that it would be useless to undertake to escape to-day. Hence I have laid away my disguise, etc., and shall endeavor to wait as patiently as possible until God small show me a favorable opportunity to use them with a prospect of success. Meanwhile, I suppose I must continue to starve on my prison fare, which the Yankees threaten to reduce still more Well, if they choose to do so, I suppose I can live upon even less than I now do, notwithstanding I am now hungry at all hours of the day and night, and am particularly hungry while I pen these lines.

MONDAY, 26.

          The Yankees are very much puzzled to learn how McKibbin escaped, but they seem to be entirely unable to discover any thing about it. It is circulated pretty extensively in the prison that he was taken out in a barrel at the water-gate, and as one other prisoner is said to have actually escaped thus recently, I think this story will be likely to obtain credence outside. At least I hope it may until I can get off.

TUESDAY, 27.

          Sherman has taken Savannah without a doubt. He presents it to Mr. Lincoln as a "Christmas present." Very well. Those who defend the righteous cause can afford to suffer and to wait. The Confederacy is sore pressed just now, but victory awaits her in the end, with confusion and everlasting disgrace to her enemies. Some of my fellow-prisoners are very despondent at the present gloomy aspect of affairs, but I am not. I believe too strongly and surely in God, to doubt for one moment that He rules in the affairs of men, and that "He doeth all things well."

WEDNESDAY, 28.

          In spite of Hood’s retreat from Tennessee and Sherman's success at Savannah, gold keeps up in New-York. The Yankees assert that it is caused by reports of disaster to Butler’s expedition to Wilmington (which is now confessed to be a failure); but I surmise that the shrewd bankers and brokers of Wall street are too wise not to foresee the inevitable financial ruin which threatens the United States government at no distant day.

THURSDAY, 29.

          After three or four days of warm weather, with plenty of rain and mud, it has again turned cold before the ice in the bay has been broken up, and now I once more have a hope of soon being enabled to make my escape. God only knows how earnestly I desire to be rid of these prison bonds, and once again to be a free man, with plenty to eat. I am almost famished, and this continual hunger is perhaps the keenest of all the troubles I am now forced to endure. I am gradually wasting away to a mere frame, but my general health continues good, notwithstanding. During the day, I am restless as a hyena, but at night I devote myself to the study of German and French, and thus my mind is partially relieved of its sorrows and cares.

FRIDAY, 30.

But little news.

          Gold still strong in New-York, notwithstanding the Yankees are almost crazed over their recent successes in Tennessee and Georgia. For a money-making people, they certainly have less common-sense than any nation on the globe.

SATURDAY, 31.

PART THIRD.

________

MY ESCAPE AND RECAPTURE.

_________

MY ESCAPE.

          As will be seen from the perusal of my diary, written while in prison, and published in the preceding pages, the last record made in it was on the night of December 31st, 1864. I did not make my escape the next day, however, which was the Sabbath, as well as the New-Year. After so great a lapse of time—for this chapter is written nine years after the events it is intended to record—it is difficult for me to determine why I did not make the attempt to escape on New-Year’s Day, as it seems from my diary it was my intention to do. Neither can I now account for the absence from my diary of any record of that day’s doings. That is a matter, however, of little consequence. My preparations and plans for an escape had all been completed, and I was ready for the adventure, which, on Monday, the 2d day of January, 1865, I carried out successfully.

          It may be as well to declare here what was my plan of escape, since the same is not sufficiently explained in my diary, for reasons the reader will readily understand.

          In the first place, then, Captain McKibbin had made me understand that the only difficulty to be overcome in passing the non-commissioned officer who usually guarded the gate through which the roll-callers made their exits and their entrances, would be to deceive the officer on duty there as to my identity. Owing to the facility with which passes could be forged, Colonel Hill had discarded the pass system entirely, preferring to place a non-commissioned officer in charge of the gate, selected for his intelligence, and with instructions to allow no rebel to pass under any circumstances, and no Federal unless he was able to identify him, both his name and the company to which he belonged; otherwise, upon any strange or unknown Federal presenting himself, the officer of the day was to be called, who, should he also fail to identify the person seeking to pass, had orders to take the unknown applicant to Colonel Hill’s headquarters as a suspicions character. Captain McKibbin would not inform me how he came by this knowledge of the orders outside, but assured me I might rely upon his information being correct. I then asked him how he himself proposed to deceive the officer on duty at the gate, but he declined to answer, simply remarking, "Colonel, I can not tell you. Watch me closely as I pass through the gate, and if you are sharp, you will catch the clue."

          It is useless to say I watched my bold captain as he passed through the gate with more interest than ever I watched a human being before. I knew he was a Mason, and I believed he had demoralized some of the roll-callers, who were also Masons, and I expected, therefore, to see some action on the part of one or two of the roll-callers which would show some sort of collusion with McKibbin. Nor was I disappointed. Just at the right of the gate, as they went out, there had been placed a large demijohn and I noticed that the two roll-callers preceding McKibbin in passing through the gate, each turned his head to view that demijohn, and passed the officer on duty at the gate while in that attitude. Instantly, as if by intuition, I did "catch the clue," and felt like shouting bravo as I saw McKibbin pass through, inspecting that demijohn so curiously that the back of his head confronted the officer at the gate as he passed through, instead of its front.

          From that moment, I felt sure of making a successful escape, although I was no Mason, and could not, therefore, count upon any sort of help from a solitary Yankee. Nor yet did I intend to resort to McKibbin's ruse. The knowledge which I had gained of the orders at the gate, and the evidence presented to my own eyes, in McKibbin’s escape, of the ease with which the guardian of the gate could be thrown off his guard, had convinced me I could also throw that officer off his guard, and in the sequel I did successfully. How I did it, the reader will now learn.

          I have already made mention of my Federal outfit. It consisted of a fine cloth coat with staff buttons, blue pants, cap, and blue overcoat with cape. Besides, I had succeeded in procuring a very bright United States brass buckle, with which to fasten a belt made of black rubber-cloth, to which was attached a cartridge-box made of cardboard covered with rubber-cloth, as well as a wooden bayonet, covered with rubber-cloth and tipped with tin. I had also prepared me a blank-book similar to those used by the roll-callers; and with my uniform and accoutrements on, and my blank-book under my arm, I looked as much like a Yankee roll-caller as one black-eyed pea looks like another, barring my height, which is six feet three inches. To reduce my stature as much as possible, I traded off a pair of Wellington boots for a pair of old shoes without any heels, and determined to walk in a stooping posture and with a shuffling gait; but my friends still assured me that the idea of my attempting to pass myself off for one of the little fellows who called our roll was simply absurd. My reply was, "Nothing venture, nothing win."

          Thus matters stood on the morning of the 2d day of January, 1865. It proved to be cold and stormy, just such a morning as I had been waiting for. The wind was from the north, and a drifting snow-storm swept through the prison-yard, causing the ill-clad rebels to stand shivering in line while the roll was being called, the roll-callers themselves being forced to turn their backs to the storm, and to cover their heads with the long capes to their overcoats. Ordinarily, such a morning would have given me the blues, but this morning I rejoiced exceedingly at the aspect of the weather, and hailed the frosty breath of Boreas with a rapture greater than ever love-lorn maiden hailed the gentle whispers of Zephyr, laden with the perfume of sweet-scented jessamine and vernal roses.

          In order to enable me to carry out my plan, I was reported as on the sick-list, and consequently remained in my room. After calling the roll, our sergeant, in accordance with his usual custom, proceeded to visit all those reported sick in their rooms, and so visited me. No sooner had he left my room, however, than, presto! instead of a sick rebel, there stood a stalwart Federal, fully equipped from head to foot, and ready to receive marching orders. At the tap of the drum to break ranks, I went out deliberately into the prison-yard, and, muffling up my head in the cape to my overcoat, mingled unceremoniously with the other roll-callers, and we all proceeded in a body toward the gate. I felt that the hour had now come, "big with the fate of Cato and of Rome." But I was never calmer in my life, and had no misgiving as to the result of my little stratagem, which was now about to be put into execution.

          I believe mention has already been made in my diary of the ditch inside the prison-wall, which had been digged down to the underlying stratum of rock, which was here very near the surface. This ditch was some four or five feet from the wall in most places, but at the gate, owing to the conformation of the wall there, it was some ten or twelve feet distant. Over the ditch, at this place, was a wooden bridge for the convenience of passengers. As I stepped on to this bridge, I glanced up to Block 2, which was on my right hand, and there stood on the stoop nearest the wall, Lieutenant Teague, of the 31st Alabama Infantry, and Charley Klink, of Georgia, as I had previously arranged for them to be. I then glanced up toward Block 1, which was on my left hand, and on its stoop which was nearest the wall stood my Adjutant, John N. Shorter, as I had previously arranged for him to be. My crossing the bridge was the signal for Teague and Klink to get into a fight, which they did with a vim. Their blows fell thick and fast, and their diabolical threats of blood and vengeance resounded throughout the prison-yard, while Shorter began to bawl from the opposite side, in a frenzy of excitement, "Fight, fight! Part ‘em, part ‘em!" This refrain wash immediately taken up by a hundred other restless rebels, who were not in our secret, and who rejoiced at any occurrence which lent a momentary diversion to the monotony of their miserable existence. They all made a rush to get up close to the combatants, while these endeavored to make up in noise what they knew they would fail to accomplish in bruises. As I had calculated, the Yankees took as much interest in the fight as the rebels did. The guards on the wall stopped their accustomed tramp to witness the novel spectacle. The roll-callers stopped in a body, just in front of the gate, and turned to see what the uproar was about—all but one: that one, it is needless to say, was myself. With my head bent down as if in a deep study, and muffled up in the cape to my overcoat, and with my roll-caller’s book under my left arm, and so held as to force the officer on duty at the gate to see it, I passed on. Just as I was passing through the gate, the sergeant on duty there stretched forth his hand, and snatched the cape back from my face. He looked at me, and I looked at him. It was the glance of a moment, and yet it sufficed to stamp his image on my mind so indelibly that I can at this moment recall it like a thing of yesterday. He was a young man, apparently not over twenty years of age, with a cheek like a girl, and a bright eye, brown as a hazelnut, and beaming with a liquid sweetness better becoming a woman than a man. A single glance convinced me his mind was preoccupied, and that in snatching my cape off my head he had acted unconsciously to himself. Without hesitating a moment, I passed on. Once beyond him, I replaced my cape on my head as it was before. Behind me, I heard the uproar and the shouts from the prison-yard; before me were the head-quarters of the post, and just to my right the new officer of the day mounting guard. I had to pass right in front of the new guard, which seemed to number thirty or forty men, but they appeared not to notice me in the least, and so I strode past them as carelessly and unconcerned as if I had never done any thing in my life but wear a Federal uniform and carry a roll-caller’s book. I marched straight on past the post head-quarters and never once turned to look back, until I had got beyond most of the buildings, when I turned aside from the main street into a vacant lot, in which stood a small frame building used for a privy. Entering this, and shutting the door behind me, I now for the first time dared to look back to see if I had been followed. Peeping over the top of the door, I perceived that no one was following after me, and I felt now that my escape was assured, since it would be at least twenty-four hours before the Yankees could possibly learn I was missing, or until roll-call the next morning. Throwing my sham roll-caller’s book into the privy-sink, I hastened to get on to the ice, and make for Sandusky, which was distant about three miles.

          The snow-storm still raged, and the ice was as smooth as glass. Once or twice my feet slipped from under me, and I fell sprawling; but no school-boy just out from school ever felt more buoyant than did I at that hour. I met several Federals returning from Sandusky, while others passed me on their way there, among them one of the officers of the Hoffman Battalion in an ice-boat. This boat passed very near to me, and as it went scudding away before the wind like a thing of life, its white sail spread out like the wing of some monstrous bird of fable, I thought of poor Keats, and I murmured, "Truly,

"‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.’"

          When about half way across the bay, I turned to look back at my old quarters. Dense columns of smoke were rising from the numberless chimney-tops, giving to the horrible place an air of gloom and filthiness, despite the mantle of snow which served in some measure to relieve the picture of a portion of its blackness. It reminded me of all manner of repulsive things—a den of wild beasts, or cage of unclean birds, or valley of dead men’s bones spoken of by the prophet. I gazed for a moment in silence on the sad spectacle, and then all at once there sprang up in my heart a joy of deliverance so full, so boundless, words would fail me to describe it. Although the snow whirled around me in eddies, and the fierce north wind was beating in my face and clutching at my hair and beard with icy fingers, while the heavens above me were black with impenetrable clouds, it seemed to me that nature never before wore so smiling an aspect. My heart overflowed with its happiness, and at that moment my good angel had supreme control of all my thoughts. In the abundance of my gratitude, I turned my eyes heavenward, and piercing through the black pall of clouds above my head, seemed to stand face to face with the Ancient of Days himself. It is worth a lifetime of sorrow to enjoy the rapturous and elevating peace of one such moment of holy communing with the Author of our being, and to my latest hour I shall never forget the outpouring of my chastened heart at that moment in the august presence of the great I Am. It did not take the form of words, but for all that its voice was heard, and the pen of the recording angel wrote it down in the book of life, where it will never be blotted out, for there the angel of mercy will for ever shadow it with the wings of his love. And at this moment, as I proceed to trace out with a trembling hand that voiceless prayer, I seem to be once more standing on that sea of glass, looking up to the great white throne of the universe, and crying out in a gratitude too boundless for words, "Lord God Omnipotent, if it is this to be free, strike when thou wilt the shackles from the slaves of the South!"

          Reaching Sandusky, my first thought was to get me something to eat. I went up to a little shop where cakes, apples, "pies and things" were kept for sale, and soon had all my pockets filled with apples, which I began to eat ravenously as I walked the streets; musing as I walked upon what course to pursue in order to reach Canada in the safest and speediest manner. Before leaving the prison, I had had made for me by a German fellow-prisoner, who was an excellent draughtsman, a fac-simile of the letter-heads used by Colonel Hill, on which to write his orders, details, etc. This German also counterfeited for me an order from Colonel Hill, detailing me as private Charles Whittier to report for duty to the provost-marshal of Detroit. My purpose was to take the cars in Sandusky that day, and go on immediately to Detroit, using my forged detail as my pass in case any should be demanded of me. With this determination, I sought out the depot, which I soon found, and which was filled with Federal soldiers, some from the armies in the field, at home on furlough, and others from the island. Those from the front took me to belong to the island, while those from the island thought I was a furloughed soldier from the front, and so I remained with them for several hours, chatting and joking, but adroitly turning the conversation whenever it began to be too personal, and was apparently unsuspected by any. I became satisfied after a while, however, that it would be running some risk to take the train at Sandusky, since I would then have to show my colors; and I perceived there was a guard at the depot to inspect passes, composed of a detail from the island, and I was afraid they might be too inquisitive as to my company, etc., on seeing I was detailed by Colonel Hill to report at Detroit. Revolving this thought over in my mind, and feeling unwilling to take any needless risk after having made so successful an escape thus far, I quietly stole off from the depot and went out into the suburbs of the city, where I concealed myself in a woods-lot which had a thick undergrowth of briers and brush. Here I lay down in the snow behind a large stump until dark. While lying here, I determined to attempt to reach Canada either afoot or on horseback, as I had been informed it was only distant some sixty or seventy miles by land, and I felt that I could soon traverse that distance.

          So soon as it was good dusk, I got up from my place of concealment, and proceeded to put my new resolve into execution. Returning immediately to the street, I found on reaching it, in a lot just across from the one in which I had lain concealed, several horses running loose. For some time, I hesitated whether to press one of them into my service or not, and afterward ride for freedom and the Canada border. Reflecting, however, that I might be caught and tried for horse-stealing, and on that charge sent, like John Morgan, to the Ohio Penitentiary, I reluctantly abandoned the idea, and started once more for the city. I found the street-lamps already lit, and some sort of a patrol out in force; but as they made considerable noise, I found it an easy matter to elude them. So soon as they had passed entirely out of hearing, I entered a little cake-shop kept by an old Dutch woman, and bought me a pound of soda-crackers and two pounds of butter. Tying these up in my handkerchief, I made my way back to the depot, and taking the railroad-track, followed it until I reached the lake shore. Here I seated myself and ate a hearty supper of crackers and butter, finishing my meal with two or three apples which remained from my purchase of the morning. I then sat for some half an hour and watched the lights on Johnson’s Island, desiring to ascertain if any thing unusual seemed to be taking place there, as I believed would be the case provided they had learned any thing of my escape. Becoming satisfied at last that "all was quiet on the Potomac," I took up my bundle, and with a light heart and a buoyant step, started for that Canada which used to be in ante-bellum times the haven of refuge to distressed Southerners "of color." As I trudged along with my bundle on my arm, this thought occurred to me more than once, and with every recurrence of it, I was provoked into a laugh, in spite of my surroundings.

          By this time, the snow-storm was over, the clouds had disappeared, and the clear blue of the heavens was gemmed with the myriads of stars, which seemed to me to blaze with an unusual lustre. It was very cold, however, and my warm breath constantly congealed on my mustache and beard, hanging in icicles from both. Still I pressed on resolutely, filled with hope and the most sanguine expectations, and was soon in a warm glow of perspiration all over, and never felt better in my life. This condition lasted for several miles, when I began to realize that, while my will was strong enough to overcome any obstacles, my poor, emaciated body was not equal to the task I was imposing upon it. For several months now I had been famishing, and my stalwart frame was little more than skin and bones. Besides, I had not entirely recovered from a wound through the right hip received in 1863. While in prison and taking little or no exercise, this wound gave me no trouble, but to my dismay, I now found that my right leg failed me altogether. I could no longer lift it from the ground even, without the assistance of my hand. This unlooked-for mishap filled me with the direst forebodings. It was now only about two o’clock in the morning, and I presume I had made some eight or ten miles, whereas I had calculated on making at least twenty miles a night.

          I soon brought my philosophy to my relief, however, and remembering the homely saying of an old lady friend of mine, "What can’t be cured must be endured," began to look me up quarters for the next day. Coming upon a dirt road, as it is called, which crossed the railroad almost at right angles, I turned off into it on the right-hand side, and following it for four or five hundred yards, rejoiced to see a neat farm-house on one side of the road, while just opposite were the barn and other outhouses such as are usually found on farms in the Western States. Finding the front door to the barn locked, I went around to the rear door, which was simply latched and was opened without difficulty. Entering, I closed the door behind me, and went forward with the stealthy tread of a thief. Inside, every thing was dark as midnight, but I could hear the animals moving about in their stalls, and being familiar with the construction of most Northern barns, I began to grope about with my hands until I found the steps leading up to the hay-loft overhead. I mounted up immediately, and digging a deep hole down into the hay, crept into it, and afterward, as Pat would say, dragged the hole in after me. It was time. I was now utterly exhausted, and every nerve in my body quivered with the tremulous flutter of physical prostration. I sank almost instantly into a profound sleep, like a tired and worn-out child.

          How long my sleep lasted, I can only conjecture. When I awaked, it was broad daylight, and I found myself in a perfect shiver of cold. Below, I heard the master of the premises stirring about, feeding his animals, and singing in a clear, ringing voice a familiar Scotch air, which I have since forgotten. His voice was so cheery, and the singer seemed to be so happy and light-hearted, that for the time I forgot my cold and weariness, and laughed to myself as the thought came to me how suddenly that sturdy yeoman would change his tune if he only knew the character of one at least of his auditors. Pretty soon, he finished his morning labors, and went away, singing as he went. I then proceeded to eat some more of my butter and crackers, and afterward amused myself with surmises as to the course of Colonel Hill on learning of my escape. Next, my mind wandered off to Canada and the restaurants of Montreal, and I enjoyed in anticipation the numberless good things awaiting my arrival there; among which, I remember roast turkey with cranberry sauce seemed to occupy the most prominent place. In the midst of these pleasing reveries, I fell off to sleep once more, and when again I waked there was a little mouse perched on a straw immediately over my head, busily sniffing his little whiskered nose from side to side, as if trying to find out whence came that savory smell of butter and crackers, so unaccustomed to his rustic haunts. I watched the little rascal with much interest as I lay shivering in my cold bed, until sleep once more overpowered my eyelids.

          Just before nightfall, I was waked by the return of my happy singer of the morning, but this time he was as cross and harsh as he had before been sweet-tempered and happy. He belabored his poor cattle with many and cruel oaths and blows, and I was at a loss to conjecture what had produced so sudden and sad a change in him. After feeding his animals and shutting up the barn, he went away, still muttering curses as he went. So soon as it was dark and every thing had become still, I crawled out of my hole in the hay, and rolled down to the floor below. To my surprise, it was some time before I could get up again. I Was stiff in every joint, and unable to move without pain. My will proved to be all-powerful, however, and in the course of about an hour I had succeeded in dragging myself back to the railroad. By this time, my blood had begun to be warmed up, hope once more buoyed up my despondent heart, and with renewed energy and resolution, I began once more my weary tramp.

          The second night proved to be like the first, clear and cold. The stars shone as brightly, and by studying the heavens, I noticed that the railroad-track, seemed to be leading me south-west instead of north-west, and this determined me to leave the railroad altogether, and strike across the country, guiding my course by the stars. Just about the time I had come to this determination, I found myself very close upon some sort of settlement near the railroad, where there were numbers of people astir. I could see several approaching me on the track, and so I lay down beside it in the shadow until they had passed by, when I immediately plunged into the forest, and began to make my way as best I could across fields and woods, brakes and brambles, being intent only one thing—to keep the right direction. I found this very difficult to do, and soon became entangled in the intricacies of a dismal swamp, where the most profound and solemn silence seemed to hold absolute dominion. This total absence of all sound was really appalling in its intensity. Time and time again, I stopped to listen, but not a twig stirred, not even the rabbit’s tread, nor the night-bird’s wing, nor any voice or motion of a single living creature seemed ever to have invaded the awful stillness of that dismal place. Everywhere were the stunted swamp-trees with their gnarled trunks and scraggy branches, from which hung glittering icicles, forming all sorts of fantastic shapes and figures, while over all was spread nature’s downy mantle of snow, hiding from view the treacherous quagmires beneath my feet, and which were now frozen solidly over. How long I remained in this shadow of the abyss, I shall never know, but about an hour before day I emerged from it, coming out into an open and elevated field, in which was a barn standing solitary and alone, no farm-house being seen anywhere near. The doors to this barn stood open, while the stalls seemed to be filled with sheep and hogs. Being much jaded by this time, I determined to rest here for the succeeding day, and finding the loft filled with hay, soon prepared me a bed as on the preceding night. This barn proved to be very open, and for the whole twelve hours I remained in it I lay and shivered like one with the ague. Of course, I could hardly sleep at all, and I rejoiced when night once more returned.

          The third night found me still sore and tired, and very hungry. By this time, I had about exhausted my store of butter and crackers, and was forced to resort to the fields for food. Finding some stooks of corn still standing, I took from them several ears of corn, which I ate with a most ravenous appetite. I never before appreciated so fully the truth of the old saying, that "hunger is a good sauce," nor the forcibleness of the parable of the prodigal son, who was driven in his extremity to eat the husks rejected by the swine. As I sat down in my weakness, and feasted on those ears of corn, it appeared to me Delmonico had never offered to my palate in his best estate a more royal feast. When I had finished my simple repast, I felt very much strengthened, and bounded forward on my journey again, full of a new hope and energy. This renewal of strength proved, however, to be my greatest misfortune. I now hastened along too rapidly, and soon felt the effects of physical exhaustion. To add to my mishaps, day seemed to be suddenly dawning, and yet I had failed to secure for my day’s lodging the friendly shelter of a barn. I found myself in a thickly settled neighborhood, and barns were plenty as blackberries, but nearly every barn had a dog in it, whose deep baying, whenever I began to unfasten window or door, sent me running away like a scared thief. In my eagerness to secure a shelter before daylight, I soon roused all the dogs in the neighborhood, and such a chorus of barks and howls as these canines then sat up, I hope never to hear again. I ran away as fast as my legs could carry me, with nearly a dozen yelping curs at my heels, and very soon found myself out of breath and utterly exhausted. In blank despair, I sat down at last on the roadside, in the snow, determined not to make another struggle. By this time the dogs had been distanced, and soon became quiet. I sat there for some time, waiting for daylight, and wondered why it was so long in appearing. Collecting meanwhile my scattered senses, I now noticed for the first time that what I had taken for day-dawn was in reality a grand display of the Aurora Borealis. How my heart leaped for joy! Saved! I shouted, and bounding to my feet once more, I hastened on my way, and being on the watch now for dogs, I approached barns with more caution than hitherto, and very soon found one in which there was no dog, and the door to which was not locked. And so for the third time I took up my lodgings in a hay-loft.

          During the following day, I slept very badly. The overexertion of the preceding night, succeeded as it had been by a lack of proper nourishment and warmth, utterly prostrated all my energies. For the first time since my escape, I began to feel sick. Hitherto I had felt weary and worn, but behind all that was a consciousness of power in reserve; this power seemed now to be slipping from me. I awaked a long time before night, and could go to sleep no more. As I lay there shivering in my uncomfortable bed, I heard two farmers talking below. I listened to their conversation attentively, and found they were trying to trade either two calves or two colts, I could not well determine which. They talked a long time, and did not go away until dusk. After they had gone, I came down from my hay-loft, and started once more on my journey; but I felt exceedingly weak and feverish, and my head swam and my knees tottered at every step. Still I pressed on, and in a couple of hours came to a river of considerable size, which was spanned by a large and handsome bridge. Stepping on to this bridge, I crossed over, and to my surprise I immediately found myself in the brilliantly lighted streets of a city, a saloon called "The Gem" being at the foot of the bridge, if I correctly remember the name. This sudden transformation from darkness to light seemed like the work of enchantment. For four days and nights now I had been in complete shadow, had seen neither fire nor face of human being, and to find myself thus suddenly brought face to face with gas-light, and gilded saloons filled with gay revelers, made me think of the days of Aladdin and his wonderful lamp. I did not stop, however, to investigate my surroundings. Hearing a railroad-train approaching from a distance, I hastened to where it seemed about to stop. I reached the depot in time barely to lay my hand on the hindmost steps of the last coach, when the long train glided on out of my reach, and went puffing away into the darkness. It was one of the saddest disappointments of my life. At a loss what to do, I crawled down under the platform in front of the depot, and gave myself up to the bitterest reflections. Should I take to the woods again, and my lonely tramps through the fields? My already overwearied frame, which trembled as I walked, threatening at every step to fall prone upon the ground, warned me that such a course would only lead to a speedy and certain death from exposure and starvation. Should I go up into the city and venture among my fellowmen once more? This seemed to be my only alternative, and while it had its hazards, at least it promised present safety and repose.

          With me to resolve was to execute. Crawling from underneath my place of concealment, I immediately went up into what seemed to be the business centre of the town. It was now past midnight, and the streets were everywhere deserted, except by the night policemen, and but few of these could anywhere be seen. When I reached what appeared to be the main street, one of these worthy guardians of the peace, a generous-hearted Irishman, accosted me, and wanted to know why I was stirring about at so unseasonable an hour. Pretending to be a drunken soldier, I told him I had just gotten off the train, and was looking for a hotel. He very kindly pointed out one but a few blocks off on the same street. Thanking him for the favor done me, I hastened toward the friendly shelter now in sight, utterly reckless of consequences. The clerk’s office was on the ground-floor, and looking through the large glass door of entrance, I saw a young man reclining on a sofa in front of a large stove with an open grate, in which glowed a hot fire of coals. Beyond the recumbent figure on the sofa was the clerk’s desk, and resting on it a shaded lamp. Commending myself to the Great Disposer of human destinies, I opened the doer and entered. With a staggering gait I strode across the floor, and seated myself heavily in an arm-chair just in front of the fire. This action of mine aroused the young man on the sofa, who looked up, still half asleep, and asked me what I wanted.

          "I am sick, and wanner stay all night," I replied, in a thick, drunken voice, for since I looked like a man just out of a debauch, I thought it would be safer to feign drunkenness than to have to account for my wobegone condition otherwise.

          "What are you doing out this time o’ night?" inquired the young man again, by this time wide awake, and eyeing me with suspicion but ill-concealed.

          "I got off the train," I answered as before. "I am sick, I tell you, and wanner stay all night."

          "Haven’t got any room for you," now answered the clerk (for such the young man proved to be) in a curt and insulting tone, and was preparing himself for another doze.

          "Haven't got no room, hey? Wall, now, as for the matter o’ that, stranger, we boys from the front ain’t used to rooms and all that sort o’ thing, you know. Give a poor soldier a place to lie down here on the floor by this good, warm fire, and that’s all he asks. You fellers to hum are the boys for feather-beds and all that sort o’ thing, you know. And let me tell you, stranger, you see that’s what’s the matter with Hannah."

          I made a centre shot. This starchy-looking clerk had been for two years at the front himself, and he knew what it was to "wear the blue." He got up with alacrity, went to his desk, said he believed there was one spare room, and asked me, this time as politely as if I had been a prince, to come and register my name. This I did as Charles Whittier, the name I bore in my forged detail. The clerk then took a lamp and conducted me himself to a nice, clean room on the second floor of the building—a room nicely furnished with all modern conveniences.

          When he had retired, and I had securely fastened the door, I took the lamp and looked at myself in the mirror. The face reflected back to me was as strange as if I had never seen it before. My most intimate friends would never have recognized me. It was a bloodless face, white as a ghost, with great, staring eyes, from the hollow depths of which seemed to burn a wasted flame like the last flickerings of a midnight taper. I now realized what a narrow escape I had made from death. One more night of such exposure as I had already endured, and this record never would have been penned. The consciousness of being rescued from such a fate filled me with unspeakable gratitude to the God who had safely conducted me thus far, and on my bended knees I acknowledged His goodness, and confidingly cast myself once again upon His care, and resolved to trust my guidance in future wholly to Him.

          I then disrobed, placing my Federal outfit on a chair, but my Confederate pants and my journal under my pillow. I then lay down, for the first time in several years, between a pair of clean sheets on a good bed, and almost instantly sank into a profound and dreamless slumber, which I was suffered to enjoy undisturbed until I waked of my own accord about nine o’clock the next day, or rather the same day, for it was about two o’clock in the morning when I went to bed.

MY RECAPTURE.

          IT is well enough to go back now and ascertain what was done on Johnson’s Island after I made my escape.

          My little stratagem proved to be a complete success. Teague and Klink fought it out manfully, until satisfied I was out of all danger, when they allowed themselves to be separated, and went off quarreling to their rooms, there to laugh over the whole affair. Shorter hastened back to our attic sanctum, and with an opera-glass watched me through our little window, until I had reached Sandusky. The guards on the wall resumed their accustomed tramp; the roll-callers now passed on through the gate, eager to tell their comrades outside of the rebel fight they had just witnessed in the bull-pen; the congregated rebels themselves dispersed, and every thing went on just the same as it would have done provided I had remained in my old quarters. Until roll-call next morning, my escape was not even suspected.

          When the sergeant who called our mess came to my name, no one answered. He then asked my brother where I was. My brother replied that he did not know, as I had left the room about two o’clock the night previous, and since then he had seen nothing of me. At this information, our roll-caller turned pale, and hastened to inform the officer of the day that one of the rebels was missing. The officer of the day hastened to inform Colonel Hill, who immediately ordered the cannon to be fired, so as to have the Home Guards on the mainland turn out and make search for me; and I presume it was owing to an obedience to this summons that my cheerful singer of that morning proved to so enraged a blasphemer the afternoon following. A twenty-mile ride through the snow, with the thermometer below zero, is enough to make any of us chafe. Colonel Hill not only put all the Home Guards on my track, as well as all the troops he could spare from the island, but he also telegraphed as follows to all the provost-marshals on the Northern border:

"JOHNSON’S ISLAND, January 3, 1865.

          "Colonel D. R. Hundley, prisoner of war, escaped from this prison last night. It is thought he has gone West, but he may have gone East. He is six feet two inches high, dark hair and hazel eyes."

          He also offered one hundred dollars reward for my recapture. Stimulated by the reward offered, as well as a desire to unravel the mystery of my escape, the secret detectives everywhere within reach of Sandusky and the other lake cities exerted themselves to the utmost. Still no clue whatever could be found to my whereabouts; and I may as well add here, none ever was found. A leaden bullet dropped into the waters of the ocean would not more effectually disappear from sight than had I disappeared from the eyes and knowledge of the whole Yankee nation. Shakespeare tells us, however, "there is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we may," and I was now in the hands of that destiny.

          It will be remembered that I made my escape on the morning of January 2d. On the morning of the fifth day of the same month, Lieutenant Jones, of the 9th Alabama Infantry, and a perfect stranger to me, although from my own county in Alabama, and for several months my fellow-prisoner, made his escape from Johnson’s Island in the same manner I had done. By this time, Colonel Hill’s spies in the prison had made themselves acquainted with our ruse, and learning of Jones’s escape soon after it was accomplished, immediately notified Colonel Hill of the fact. Again the cannon sounded as before, and when Colonel Hill ascertained that Jones had certainly escaped in Federal uniform, he again telegraphed to the provost-marshals as follows:

"Johnson’s Island, January 5, 1865.

          "Lieutenant Jones, a prisoner of war on this island, made his escape this morning. He was dressed in Federal uniform, and is six feet two inches high, with dark hair and hazel eyes."

          On the morning of the 6th of January, this dispatch was received by the provost-marshal of Fremont, Ohio, a town of some five or six thousand inhabitants; and in the principal hotel of which town I lay "in my little bed," peacefully slumbering and wholly unconscious of approaching evil. Upon receiving the above dispatch, the provost-marshal immediately came down to the hotel in which I was stopping, and showing to the clerk there on duty in the office the dispatch about Lieutenant Jones, asked if any such person had been seen by him suiting to the description. He was informed that no such person had been seen answering to the description in the dispatch. He then left the hotel, after first requesting the clerk to notify him immediately should any one visit the hotel whose appearance would at all indicate him to be Lieutenant Jones.

          Meanwhile, wholly unconscious of all that was taking place in the outside world, I awoke about nine o’clock, much refreshed, and immediately ordered up to my room a very tempting breakfast of boiled eggs, buttered toast, buckwheat-cakes, beefsteak, and a delicious cup of tea. Such a breakfast reminded me of ante-bellum times, and I relished it as I had never relished a breakfast before or since. After disposing of it, I requested the servant in attendance to bring me up at the dinner-hour an equally good dinner, remarking to him that I had been sick for some time, and did not feel well enough to get out of bed.

          At the hour for dinner, the same servant brought me up a splendid dinner, which I ate in much peace and satisfaction, feeling sure now that my troubles were all over, and that by night I should find no difficulty in getting up and stealing away to the depot, being determined to take the first train which should arrive bound for the West.

          It was now getting late in the afternoon, and the clerk on duty the night previous had returned once more to his post. Soon afterward the provost-marshal again appeared, and again showing his dispatch describing Lieutenant Jones, was informed by the clerk that a Federal soldier, who had registered as Charles Whittier, had come into the hotel the night previous after midnight, and was still in his room, claiming to be too unwell to get up, and having his meals sent to him in consequence.

          "Perhaps," suggested the provost-marshal, "he may be our man."

          "Wait a bit," replied the clerk; "let me call the boy who has been attending his room."

          He rang the call-bell, and soon had the servant before him who had served me so faithfully during the day.

          "See here," says the clerk, "how about that sick man in No.—?" The number of my room I have forgotten.

          "He eats hearty," the boy replied, "but he’s mighty white and thin, and says he’s been sick a long time."

          "Does he need a doctor?"

          "He never said."

          "Well, you go up to his room and open the window-blinds, so as to let in the light, and I guess I’ll go up and see how he is."

          The servant immediately came up again to my room, and saying nothing to me whatever, opened wide my window-blinds, and then silently retired. This proceeding puzzled me very much. I felt satisfied it boded an adventure of some kind, but I was wholly at a loss to conjecture even its character. I had not long to wait in suspense. In a little while, I heard a gentle rap at my chamber-door, and politely requesting the person rapping to come in, I was surprised to see my clerkly acquaintance of the night before walk softly into my room, all smiles and gentleness.

          "Are you much sick?" he asked in a most pleasant manner, standing by my bedside.

          "Not now," I replied; "I am just recovering from a spell of protracted illness, and I am weak more than sick."

          "Shall I call a doctor? We have an excellent physician boarding in the house with us, and his room is not far off. If you say so, I will send him up to you."

          "No, thank you. I do not feel that I require the services of a physician. I think by to-morrow I will be well enough to get out of bed. Do not trouble yourself on my account, please."

          "It will be no trouble, I assure you. If you find yourself getting worse, let me know."

          And this polite clerk bowed himself out of the room as softly and graciously as he had just before bowed himself into it. "Ah!" said I to myself, so soon as the door closed behind his retiring figure, "there is a cat in that meal-tub somewhere, sure!" And yet I was completely at a loss to conjecture the color even of that cat.

          I was allowed but a short while to debate over the subject in my mind. While inquiring so kindly after my health, that affable clerk had noted all he came to note, the color of my hair and eyes, my size, and my Federal uniform thrown carelessly on the back of a chair. He had retired only to report to the provost-marshal below that I suited the description of Lieutenant Jones in every particular. The two consulted together for a moment, and then resolved upon my arrest immediately on suspicion. They came up together to my room, treading so softly I did not hear their footfalls, and was unaware of their approach until they suddenly threw my chamber-door wide open, and rushing in in evident trepidation, nervously confronted me with the startling announcement, "You are our prisoner, sir!"

          "Ah!" said I in blank dismay, looking from one to the other in much perplexity.

          "Yes, you are our prisoner. Your name is Jones," continued the provost-marshal, a tall, black-haired and black-bearded man, "and you are from Johnson’s Island. You made your escape from the prison-pen there on yesterday morning."

          This unlooked-for announcement reassured me. With renewed hope came renewed strength.

          "Well, gentlemen," I answered, with a laugh which was real and hearty, for I felt that Richard was himself again, "if I am Jones, it is a little singular I have been so long a time in finding it out."

          "Oh!" continued the provost-marshal, "there is no use in your denying it. Here is Colonel Hill’s telegram, giving your description."

          He thereupon produced the dispatch and read it to me.

          "So, you persist in calling me Jones, do you? Well, gentlemen, allow me to assure you I was not aware until this moment there was such a man as Lieutenant Jones in existence. I confess I am from Johnson’s Island, but from the outside of that bull-pen, not the inside. If one of you will take the trouble to examine the side-pocket of my coat hanging on that chair there, you will find a paper which will convince you of the truth of what I tell you."

          The provost-marshal proceeded to examine my coat-pocket as directed, and drawing therefrom my forged detail, proceeded to read it carefully, and then exclaimed, when he had finished:

          "Why, this is all right. I have seen five hundred of old Hill’s signatures, and this is certainly a genuine document.

          "Of course it is," I responded, feeling now perfectly calm and self-possessed.

          "But how came you here? This paper orders you to report for duty to the provost-marshal in Detroit."

          "Well, you see, gentlemen," I began with much humility, "I may as well make a clean breast of it at once. To tell you the truth, I have been on a bender. Last night, when the train reached here, I got off for a few moments, and it ran off and left me. I am sorry, but I feel it due to you to speak the whole truth in the premises. I know I am liable to be court-martialed, for I am due in Detroit before now, but I trust you will not report me to Colonel Hill."

          By this time, the clerk had picked up and examined my fine frock uniform coat, of blue cloth and ornamented with gilt staff buttons. This coat was worn by my brother on his raid into Tennessee, and at the time of his capture was concealed by a long linen duster. I always wondered why the Yankees allowed him to enter the prison without looking underneath his duster, but as he was a quartermaster, I presume they did not trouble themselves to examine his person closely.

          "How is this?" exclaimed the clerk, holding up this coat to view; "here are staff buttons. I’d like to know what business a private soldier has with such a coat as this, and these buttons?"

          "Oh! as for the matter of that," I replied with a laugh, which this time was rather forced, "you know the boys will sometimes put on a little style when they get out of camps."

          The provost and the clerk both laughed, and stepped out of the room to consult. Presently they returned, and said they had concluded to telegraph to Colonel Hill, and if they found every thing correct, they would allow me to go on to Detroit without any further detention.

          "That is right, gentlemen; telegraph to Colonel Hill by all means—nothing would suit me better; but don’t say any thing about my having been on a bender, please."

          They both laughed again, said they knew the "boys" would get on "benders," and sometimes put on a "little style" too, and promised not to mention either circumstance.

          Once more they retired and left me alone for several minutes. As I afterward learned, the provost-marshal was satisfied to let me go on without any further action in the matter, being fully convinced of the truth of my story. The clerk, however, who had been in the Federal army two years, insisted that there was something wrong somewhere, and was anxious to send off a telegram to Colonel Hill. The provost-marshal, who was evidently a kind-hearted man, and honestly believed me to be a good Union soldier overtaken by a weakness only too common in both armies, finally compromised the matter by agreeing to first make a thorough examination of my clothing, and if nothing more suspicious should be discovered than had already been found, the clerk promised to insist no longer upon telegraphing to Colonel Hill. Having come to this understanding, they once more entered my room, smiling pleasantly, and made known to me their determination, at the same time making a polite apology for the liberty they felt it their duty to take under the circumstances.

          At this announcement, my heart sank within me, and not without cause. I lay there in speechless agony, while they proceeded to make the examination of my clothing. The first examined the pockets to my uniform coat, and drew forth from one of them a wad of butter and crackers about half as big as your fist, and thickly covered with wisps of hay.

          "Ah ha!" exclaimed the provost, "this is a queer sort of rations for one of Uncle Sam’s boys to carry!"

          They then drew out of another pocket my counterfeit cartridge-box and belt, which I had preserved as a souvenir of my escape.

          "So, so!" said the clerk, holding up this trophy in much exultation, "I’d like to know the ordnance officer who issues such accoutrements to Uncle Sam’s boys."

          It is needless to say, during all this time I remained as mute as a mouse.

          Having gone through my coat, they next took up my blue pants. As has already been observed, my gray pants and journal were under my pillow. In the pocket to my blue pants was my money-purse. When I first left Johnson’s Island, my purse was in my gray pants, over which, in my haste to get on my Federal uniform, I had drawn my blue pants. When I made my first purchase of apples in Sandusky, I found it so troublesome to get at my purse, I shifted it to my blue pants for convenience. It was now drawn forth to become my swiftest and surest detector. So soon as it was opened, a faded yellow piece of Confederate paper was drawn from it, on which were my name, rank, and regiment in full.

          "Eureka!" cried the provost-marshal, jumping up excitedly. "If here ain’t the colonel we’ve been looking for a week!"

          As he spoke, he and the clerk both turned to look at me. I met their gaze of triumph with the calmness of a settled despair.

          "Yes, gentlemen, it is only too true. Here I am, the wreck of a man my prison-keepers have made me. But for the hardships and starvation I have endured during the past few months, I would to-day be safe in Canada. I have done all I could to regain my freedom and have failed. There is no need longer to resist destiny. I surrender to you, gentlemen, as a prisoner of war."

          "Yes, but you must go to jail."

          "Then you will have to take me there, I am unable to walk. I am really sick, and not on a bender, as I pretended just now. Starvation, confinement, exposure, suffering—these all combined have about done their work on me. Take me, if you will, to jail, but otherwise I am unable to reach there."

          I spoke with some bitterness, for I felt fitter. The provost saw that I spoke truly this time, and told the clerk to order up a carriage. He then sat down beside me, and proceeded to ask me a hundred questions, all of which I answered or declined to answer in as courteous terms as they were propounded. He was especially anxious to learn how I made my escape, but of course I refused to tell him.

          "Oh!" said he, "money got you out. There is something rotten on Johnson’s Island, and we’ll have to ferret it out."

          About that time, the clerk returned and reported the carriage ready to take me to jail. The provost stepped out with him into the hall, and I overheard him saying in a low tone:

          "Never mind about the carriage. He is a clever fellow, and we won’t send him to jail. And he is real sick, too. Send him up something to drink."

          I will confess this act of unlooked-for and unsolicited kindness touched me very sensibly. And the generous wine sent up to me soon afterward helped equally as much to cheer me to some extent.

          By this time, the news of my capture had spread in the city, and crowds of the curious came flocking to the hotel to see for once a live rebel colonel. Several prominent citizens were allowed to enter my room, among them one large, handsome, splendid-looking man, to whom the rest showed a marked respect. This gentleman, for such he proved himself to be, entered into a very lengthy conversation with me, seeming desirous to have me give him a frank expression of my views of the prospects of the South. Perceiving by intuition that I was addressing a man of more than ordinary manliness of character, with an eloquence born of the occasion, and which I shall not even attempt to reproduce here, I gave him unreservedly my "views of the situation." I told him how I had been originally a strong Union man, holding the secessionists in abhorrence, and how by degrees my affection for the Union and the old flag had given way before outrage after outrage, until I had become one of the fiercest and most uncompromising rebels in the army. Warming up with my theme, I assured him the South never could be conquered, that the blood of her Revolutionary sires still flowed in the veins of their descendants, and that they had resolved to a man never to yield up their rights.

          He listened to me most patiently and courteously, and then answered calmly, "But you forget, Colonel, that the American people all come of the same Revolutionary stock, and that we of the North are just as brave and determined as you of the South, and we are willing to concede that you are brave and determined. In moments of passion, we may and do often denounce each other, but for all that, we can not fail to acknowledge that we are really the same people, fighting for what both sides believe to be the true principles of government. The question then narrows itself down to one of numbers and resources. You must acknowledge that in men and money at least, we have the advantage over you."

          "That is true, sir," said I, much struck with his calm and unimpassioned as well as his impartial speech. "It is possible that by mere force of numbers, you may yet succeed in conquering the South; but if you do, let me assure you, you will find there only a land of graves, of old men and women and children, and, it may be, of a pitiful army of shirks and cowards who manage to avoid serving either side; but the men of the South will no longer be there to grace your triumph."

          I spoke these words with a depth of feeling such as I never manifested on any other occasion in my life, and I was surprised to witness their effect on that manly North-man. Instead of taking offense at what I had said, his eyes suffused with tears, and in a voice tremulous with emotion, he answered:

          "Pardon me, Colonel, for saying it, but we of the North intend to save this nation, and we intend to bring the South back into the Union with all her brave and noble sons. It is your sort we are fighting to bring back into the fold. As for the shirks and cowards you speak of, we should feel humiliated to have to think of wasting so much treasure and shedding so much noble blood only to keep such as they in the Union."

          It was now nearly dark, and I was requested to get up and dress, which I did, adroitly managing to slip my journal inside of my gray pants as I drew them on. I was then conducted down-stairs, and the landlord invited me into the dining-room, telling me to eat all I wanted and it should cost me nothing, as he wanted to prove to me all the Yankees were not cannibals. While at the supper-table, three visiting-cards were brought to me, on which I was requested to write my name and rank in full, at the solicitation of some ladies, as I was informed. Of course I did as requested with pleasure.

          After supper, the provost and clerk took charge of me, and we took the early train for Sandusky. The omnibus waited for us at the door, surrounded by a large crowd of boys, women, and citizens, all anxious to see the wonder of the hour. On reaching the train, we found aboard several guards belonging to the Hoffman Battalion, just returning from Toledo, where they had been in search of me. One of these guards took a seat by me, and gave me a graphic account of the arrest in Toledo of a Yankee for me, who was so incensed at being arrested for a rebel, and cut up so, they put him in a dungeon and kept him there forty-eight hours. He was from Lansing, Michigan, and had to bear with his forced imprisonment until his friends in Lansing could be telegraphed to, when his identity was established, and he was turned loose. I felt complimented when the guard added, that this Lansing man was a "bustin’ fine-lookin’ fellow," and did favor me some.

          As well as I can now remember, we reached Sandusky about 9 P.M. I was taken immediately to the principal hotel, where it seems some civil functionary was stopping, to whom it was necessary to show me. The clerk, of whom mention has been made as one of my captors, now took sole charge of me, and conducted me into the presence of this modern Justice Shallow, who seemed to be holding some sort of a council, for he was surrounded by about a dozen gentlemen, apparently men of character and substance. Up to this time, I had been treated with marked courtesy by every person with whom I had come in contact; but the moment I entered the presence of this self-important civil functionary, I was made to feel the keenness of "the rich man’s scorn, the oppressor’s wrong, and the proud man’s contumely," all at once. Had I been a dog, detected in sheep-stealing, I could not have been treated with more contempt. I felt so humiliated by the cool, sneering incivility of this old bald-headed "public functionary," I could not conceal my chagrin, although I said not a word. As I turned to leave this hated audience-chamber, the brave and manly clerk, who seemed intuitively to read my most inmost thoughts, whispered to me in a tone of sincere sympathy I could not mistake or fail to appreciate:

          "You do not know how much I regret the disagreeable duty which constrains me to deliver you up to the authorities. I would rather a thousand times be helping one of our boys out of a rebel prison-pen than to be helping to put you back on Johnson’s Island."

          I looked him full in the face, and knew that he spoke the simple truth. He was every inch a man. I regret very much I have forgotten his name, for it deserves honorable mention here. He now turned me over to the military authorities, after bidding me a courteous adieu more as a friend than an enemy.

          I was now conducted to a large room, around the walls of which were arranged bunks for the accommodation of the provost-guard. Otherwise the room was almost bare of furniture, except a large stove near the centre. By this time, most of the soldiers were either in bed or on duty out of doors, and I found left with me one soldier and one person in citizen’s dress. This latter person was a secret detective, a sandy-haired little man, wiry, keen, talkative, and full of energy. He told me he had been on my track ever since it was found out I had escaped, and had a theory of his own in regard to my manner of escape, which he was persuaded was the correct one. He said I got over the wall of the prison on the west side, and that I was assisted by two persons on the outside. He had followed our tracks for several days through the country, and would have eventually had the honor of capturing me had he not been diverted from the pursuit by a Jew peddler whom he heard of, and whom he took to be me in disguise. During the day just past, he said he had walked thirty miles through the snow on the track of this peddler, only to find at nightfall that he was in reality a German Jew, who spoke such horrible English as no rebel under heaven could counterfeit. Upon learning of the capture of the real rebel, although worn out with his day’s tramp, he had hastened to Sandusky to get a sight of me. He conversed with me about an hour, I suppose, and then went and laid down in a bunk by the side of the wall; but not to sleep, for I noticed, whenever I chanced to look in that direction, that he invariably had his eyes wide open and watching me and the Federal soldier who was now my sole companion.

          This soldier was a large, strapping country fellow, who claimed to be a Copperhead. He said he was opposed to the war, and had joined the Hoffman Battalion because it was understood it was not to go to the front. He declared if it ever should be ordered to the front, nothing should ever induce him to fire a shot against a Southern soldier. He also told me, should I ever make my escape again, where I would find a nest of Copperheads, who would take me under their protection and help me off to Canada surely and speedily. He then got up, and pulling out a coarse wooden box from under his bunk, opened it and took out a mince-pie, which his mother had sent him during Christmas. As he offered it to me, he remarked that he was willing always to divide his last crust with a rebel soldier. Under the circumstances, I hardly knew what to think of this soldier’s conduct, and am willing to confess I had my doubts as to his professions being genuine. I thought it a little singular he should dare to indulge in such language, when he must have been as well aware as myself that both of us were being watched by that argus-eyed, sandy-haired little detective. Consequently, I did not encourage him any great deal, and pretending to be sleepy, lay down on a mattress which had been spread for me in the middle of the floor. While lying here, I managed to transfer my journal from my gray pants to my bosom, intending, in case a favorable opportunity presented itself, to destroy my MS., rather than suffer it to fall into the hands of my captors. But sleep refused to visit my eyelids during the whole night, and I rejoiced when day dawn began once more to appear.

          It snowed continuously during the night, and the morning showed the ground thickly covered with the newly fallen snow. The storm had abated somewhat, however, and the cold was not very intense. By this time, I had given up all idea of attempting another escape, and was now thinking only of making the best of my surroundings. I had five or six dollars in greenbacks and ten dollars in gold, and I was anxious to preserve this if possible. The greenbacks I determined to spend in Sandusky, but the gold-piece belonged to Captain Pruett, of my regiment, who had given it to me just before making my escape, and since my recapture I was anxious to restore it to him. By request, I was placed in charge of Colonel Hill’s orderly, who had been sent over after me, and he permitted me to go over to the principal hotel for my breakfast. As it was to be the last good breakfast I should be privileged to eat for some time, it is needless to say I made the most of my opportunity. I then requested permission of the orderly to buy me a soldier’s haversack and some other little articles. The orderly hesitated for a while, but I soon saw there was "speculation in his eye," and I therefore offered him a bribe so neat that many a better man than he would have accepted of it. It was no other than to sell him my fine blue cloth coat, staff buttons and all, for fourteen dollars, or rather for a citizen’s sack-coat which I selected at a clothier’s, and which he agreed to get Colonel Hill to consent to have delivered to me in the prison. As my cloth coat was worth fifty or sixty dollars, he made by this transaction a "nice little spec," and so, too, did I, for I well knew that blue coat and I would be bound to part for ever, and that very soon. Having put the orderly in a splendid humor by my handsome offer, I prevailed upon him to allow me to visit a grocer’s, where I soon filled my haversack with sugar and coffee, luxuries no longer allowed in the prison, but I was determined if possible to get them in, since I felt convinced I could not survive the hardships to which I had been so recently subjected on such fare as I knew awaited me in my old quarters.

          Finding no opportunity to dispose of my journal, with it still concealed in my bosom, I threw my well-filled haversack across my shoulders, and then announced myself as ready to return to Johnson’s Island. Being barely able to walk, my guards kindly furnished me a sled on which to sit, and I was thus drawn back over the ice to Johnson’s Island, being escorted by the orderly, the little sandy-haired detective of the night before, and some three or four private soldiers.

          On reaching post head-quarters, Colonel Hill had but little to say to me, and I will do him the justice to add, that little was said in a courteous and gentlemanly manner, which gave me a much better opinion of the man than I had hitherto entertained. I was next turned over to Captain Manor (if I correctly remember the name), who held the position of post inspector-general. This captain was a young man of nearly my own age—like myself, a lawyer by profession, and seemed to be a man of some cultivation, but of a saturnine temperament, which gave to him an expression of moroseness. Much to my astonishment, he ordered me to take off my clothes. I protested very vehemently against such an outrage, and denounced it in fitting terms. Captain Manor sat unmoved, and answered coldly, that I could take my choice—either strip voluntarily, or have my clothes taken off of me by force. I decided to strip voluntarily, but notified Captain Manor that I did so under protest. He replied that he was entirely indifferent as to that, and I might protest as much as I pleased. I soon took off all my Yankee clothing, and stood before my enemy in my shirt-sleeves and a pair of gray pants. I saw that the object sought was not yet attained, and chancing to look around and perceiving my little sandy-haired detective of the night before an eager spectator of the proceeding, I rightly divined what it was all about. No doubt he had kept his eyes on me during the whole of the preceding night, and had witnessed the transfer of my journal from my pants to my bosom, and I felt satisfied now that Captain Manor was in search of that journal. I hesitated, therefore, no longer, but began immediately to take off my shirts, of which I had on some four or five, having put them on before leaving the prison as a protection against the cold. So soon as I had taken off my last shirt, my Journal of Prison Life dropped out, and was immediately seized with great eagerness and handed to Captain Manor. Seeing that this prize seemed to satisfy him, I requested that I might not be forced to strip off my pants and drawers. To this request he assented, after sending an officer to search my pockets. The provost-marshal of Fremont had kept possession of every thing found in my Yankee clothes, and in the pockets to my gray pants was only the ten-dollar gold-piece of which mention has been made. When the officer came to search my pockets now, on a pretense of pulling up my pants, I took this gold out in one hand, and so held it concealed until the search was over, when I again replaced it and proceeded to redress. But for the interest created by the seizure of my journal, however, I never could have executed this clever feat of legerdemain.

          I was only permitted to put on the shirts I had taken off, all my Yankee clothes being retained as contraband articles. So also were my sugar and coffee and haversack. Hatless, coatless, almost spiritless, I was now returned to my old quarters, being marched back through the same gate which had been witness to my successful departure only a few days before. My friends in the prison were greatly chagrined at my recapture, and condoled with me sorrowfully, but all to no purpose. Life had lost all its charms to me. It seemed for some time I never would recover from the shock. Perhaps I never should, had not the perusal of my Journal of Prison Life won for me outside a friend in Captain Huntington, Colonel Hill’s Adjutant-General. This accomplished and scholarly gentleman was so pleased with the perusal of my Prison Echoes, he came in the prison on purpose to make my acquaintance; and with a noble generosity offered me the use of his library while I should remain in the prison. He had a choice selection of books, and so soon as my mind became sufficiently composed to resume my studies, I availed myself of his kindly offer, and feel that I owe to him a debt of gratitude words can not repay.

          Colonel Hill also relented from his first purpose of confiscating my sugar and coffee, and permitted them to be restored to me, and also permitted his orderly to carry out in good faith our agreement about the exchange of coats. By this means, I became possessed of a comfortable sack-coat, which lasted me through the winter.

          After that, I made several other efforts to escape, the chief effort being to dig a tunnel. This tunnel was begun under Block 1, and we worked at it for a month or so (about a dozen of us), and we got along swimmingly until we reached the ditch next to the prison-wall. This ditch was now filled with water and frozen over, and we calculated on pumping the water out of the ditch and then crossing it under the ice. We made us a pump out of an old piece of tin guttering, and pumped away manfully for several days, but all to no purpose. The winter rains and snows had started several springs, which filled the ditch as fast as we could empty it. After that, we gave up all hope of escape in despair. As the spring came on apace, darker and darker became the fortunes of the Confederacy, until the final collapse took place, which numbered the Lost Cause among the things of the past. After that event, I was retained on Johnson’s Island until the release of the field and general officers, which took place on the 25th day of July, 1865.