"Yes, but I was discovered."
"You would not have been, if one of our own men hadn't split on you."
"What!" exclaimed Frank, "you don't pretend to say that a Federal soldier was mean enough to inform against me?"
"Yes, I do; and there he stands now." And, as Cabot spoke, he pointed to a tall, hard-featured man standing by the window, looking out into the street. "I slept at the head of the stairs last night, and distinctly heard him tell the guards that you were intending to leave. His name is Bishop, and he belongs to the Thirtieth Maine Regiment. He has for some time past been trying to be allowed to take the oath of allegiance to the South." [Footnote: A fact.]
"What will he do then?" inquired Frank; "go into the rebel army?"
"No, but he could be employed here in the arsenal, making bullets to kill our own men with."
"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Frank, indignantly; "I didn't suppose there was a man from my own State who could be guilty of such meanness."
"He is mean enough for any thing. Haven't you noticed that every night he comes around through our quarters with a candle?"
"Yes; but I don't know what he does it for."
"Well, he counts us every night before he goes to sleep, and, in fact, comes through our room two or three times in the night, to see that none of us have escaped. He hopes in that manner to gain favor with the rebels. I have told you this, in order that you may look out for him the next time you try to escape."