"I attempted to roll quietly away from the wretch, and might have succeeded, had I not encountered a

guard, who thrust me with his bayonet, exclaiming, Halt, dar !"-Page 39.

the gentle embrace of slumber. I feigned sleep and snored prodigiously.

"How sound that Yankee sleeps," I heard one of the guards remark.

About midnight a storm arose, and threatened destruction to my tent, which was shortly after blown over by an auspicious blast. It instantly occurred to me that perchance there was now an opportunity to escape, in the darkness and noise of the storm. I attempted to roll quietly away from the wreck, and might have succeeded had I not encountered a guard, who thrust me with his bayonet, exclaiming, "Halt, dar !" I inquired as innocently as I could, "You wouldn't bayonet a sleeping man, would you?"

"Oh!" said he, apologetically, "I thought you was awake."

"Why! our tent has blown over, don't you see ?"

The tent was soon put up, and I again safely ensconced within its canvas walls. The next day I was taken to Corinth, in a mule wagon, and deposited in a rickety old warehouse. Among the prisoners here were about twenty slaves, some of them almost white, and all clad in rags. Also in the company were ten or a

dozen Tennesseeans, yclept "political prisoners," together with a few rebel soldiers.

Among the latter was a droll genius, who answered to the name of "Calico Bill," who was under sentence of death for flogging his captain. By some means he had procured an old United States uniform, in which he donned the dignity of a brigadier. In this garb he would frequently assume the position of drillmaster, and the poor imbecile clay-eaters would obey his orders with the menial servitude of slaves. His conduct, while it was highly tyrannous, was nevertheless amusing. He seemed to have these ignorant soldiers completely under his control, and I refer to this illustration of slavish fear to "point the moral," if not "to adorn the tale." It does not require very profound penetration to ascertain the fact that all through the South "the schoolmaster has long been abroad." I have sometimes thought that if our present conflict resulted in no other good, it would send light to many a benighted spot, and, perchance,

"Pour fresh instruction o'er the mind,
Breathe the enlivening spirit, and fix

The generous purpose in the glowing breast."

Not a man in the prison with us could read!

Bill practiced largely upon their credulity, and when he desired a little "contraband" fun, he would go to the window, which was always crowded outside with "secesh," and cry out: "What will you have?"

"We want to see a Yankee," they frequently answered.

Well, now you see me, and what do you think of us?"

"What are you 'uns all down here fighting we 'uns fur?

Bill would reply: "For a hundred and sixty acres of land and your negroes."

"Calico Bill" was a genuine, shrewd and intelligent Yankee, from the State of Maine. He gave me a sketch of his history, in which I learned that he was teaching in a private family in Florida, when the war broke out, was pressed into the Confederate service, and had quarreled with his captain, who undertook to exercise an authority over him, incompatible with his native freedom. He said he would rather meet his fate there than to die in the rebel army. He said there were many Northern men in their army, and that three-fourths of them would vote for the old banner and Constitution, if uninfluenced by their leaders. "But," he added, "you see how this fellow does" (refer

ring to the man he had been drilling); "and there are thousands in their army just as ignorant as he."

When he went for a bucket of water, he would call out, "Come on, about thirty or forty of you infernal rebels, and go with me after some water!"

In this way he would drill these guards, so that those on the outside thought him a Federal, while those on the inside believed him to be a rebel officer.

In the rear of the warehouse was a countingroom; and the entire prison could boast but one bed, for which I, being the only officer, got the preference. It consisted of an old coffeesack, filled with "body-guards," and I reluctantly accepted its use.

While standing near the door, two men came in who were dressed in Federal uniforms. They came to me and asked me if I was a Federal officer.

"No," said I, "not now; but I was a few days ago. I am a prisoner now."

In conversation with them, I ascertained that they were northern men, but, being in the South when the war broke out, were pressed, like thousands of others, into the rebel army.. At the battle of Belmont, they deserted and