CHAPTER VI.

A New Prison-Murder of Lieutenant Bliss-In IronsYankee Ingenuity-Rebel Ignorance-Parson Rogers— Faithful Servants-Bold and Successful Escape of Prisoners-Captain Troy-A Blindfold Journey—A

Traitor.

WE were now conducted to our new quarters in the military prison, a description of which I will attempt. The side walls were of brick, twenty inches in thickness, and thirteen feet high. The ends were closed by massive ironclad wooden gates, extending the whole width of the prison. The room was about two hundred feet long, and forty in width. It was used formerly as a cotton depot. There was on either side a narrow shed-roof, sloping inward, extending two-thirds of the entire length of the building. Beneath this shelter were six hundred soldiers, and about one hundred and fifty political prisoners.

Near this prison, Lieutenant Bliss, of Illinois, one of the noblest and truest men I ever knew. and a minister of the gospel, was murdered. The circumstances of this cruel outrage are as

follows: One beautiful morning in May, the Lieutenant, being somewhat indisposed, and desiring to breathe the fresh and fragrant air without our prison walls, asked permission of the Captain of the Guard, to go to an adjacent house and get his canteen filled with fresh milk. With considerable reluctance the privilege was granted, and the Lieutenant and myself were allowed to go on our errand, under a guard of four armed men. Upon our arrival at the house, Bliss handed his canteen through the window, where a lady received it, and in accordance with his request, filled it with milk, and passed it back to him. At this moment, one of the guards muttered some undistinguishable order, which I was unable to understand, although I was nearer the guard than Bliss. The command, whatever it was, of course could not be obeyed; but the guard instantly raised his gun. Bliss saw it, and remarked pleasantly, though a little excited:

"You are not going to shoot me, are you?" No sooner were his words uttered, than the gun was fired and the bullet pierced the heart of my gallant comrade. His last words were, "Brother, I'm shot!" I stood amazed and dumb with indignation over the bleeding corpse of my faithful companion, the three remaining

From this scene of

loaded guns pointed at me. murder I was forced back to the prison. I felt it my duty to report this inhuman act to the commandant, and ask redress, by having the reckless guard punished. What was my astonishment and indignation to learn, afterward, that that very guard, for that very act, was granted thirty days' furlough as a reward. The only apology offered was, that possibly the guard misunderstood his instructions! I ventured to tell the commandant, Captain Troy, my opinion of such conduct, and to his face called the outrage by its proper name, a bloody murder, committed under his guilty authority. As I might have expected, this plain language brought down his vengeful wrath, and he replied:

"I will put you in irons, sir."

I could but reply, thinking of my dear, lost comrade:

"I am in your power, sir, irons or no irons; but you murdered my sick friend, and are guilty of shedding his blood!"

For my impertinence, I was handcuffed and made to suffer the cruel spite of my hateful enemies.

These things occured in the city of Mont

gomery, Alabama, among the chivalry of the South.

We often suffered for water in this cotton-shed prison. Some of our boys resolved to dig a well within the walls. In digging, they came to a stratum of potters' clay, by which, after the well was completed, they passed many a leisure hour in manufacturing little wares, such as pipes, rings, cups, &c., all of which found a ready sale among the rebels, and commanded a fair price in Confederate shinplasters. The ingenuity of our Yankee boys was a constant marvel to the stupid Southrons. We received sufficient pocket money by our manufactures to furnish us with many little conveniences and comforts. One of our comrades, who had formerly been an engraver, and who had no conscientious scruples about using the rebel currency to the best advantage, was very skilful in changing five cent scrip to fifties, and many of the fives that were passed in for our wares, passed out fifties for gingerbread !

One day quite a commotion prevailed among the rebel peddlers in our prison. A gaunt, gawking fellow had received one of these changed bills, but was not quite satisfied of its genuineness. A motley crowd were huddled around him trying to unravel the mystery. I was called

by the holder of the bill to explain. Said the puzzled critic, holding out the suspected paper and pointing to the redundant cipher at the right of the five:

"Look here, Capt'n, at this tarnal round thing here. This thing ortn't fur to be here. "Well, sir," said I, "I can't help it; why did you put it there ?"

“I didn't put it thar, nuther. I got it uv that thar feller," said he, pointing to a brighteyed soldier about seventeen years of age, who sat looking on with apparent indifference, but who was greatly enjoying the confusion of the ignorant butternut, who had just sense enough to know that something was wrong, but no ingenuity to detect the imposition. I do not justify this money-making trick, but, under the circumstances, its sinfulness is somewhat diminished.

We were then more than a thousand miles from home, surrounded by a bloodthirsty and infuriated mob, robbers of our government, and oppressors of our fellow-men. We were dragged to that prison half-starved and moneyless. Our rations consisted of a bit of spoiled beef not larger than your two fingers, a small slice of coarse corn-bread without salt, and this only twice a day. Whatever more than this we