"We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree."
he came into the room and ordered us to stop singing; but we only sang the louder, telling him that our tongues were our own, and we should sing if we wanted to.
"Well," he replied, "sing, if you will, but you shan't eat, for I'll stop your rations."
This had the desired effect. Our sonorous chorus soon sank to a feeble quaver and faded away. Some of us consoled ourselves with the memory of one occasion when the Iron Brigade entered Warrenton, every man singing "John Brown," the column keeping time to the music. But we did not sing any more on this occasion.
For a time we kept up our courage by cheerful conversation or practical jokes. Sometimes an amusing incident would serve to break the monotony, and was eagerly seized upon and made the most of. Many obtained nick-names, such as "Lengthy," "Shorty," "Whitehead," etc. One, a Lieutenant Wetterville, obtained the nickname of "Rats" in this way: One night, after all had retired, and the cheerful snore began to enliven the sleepless hours of the restless, this young officer was roused from his slumbers by a huge rat gnawing his toes. He sprang to his feet in affright, and ran the length of the room, shouting: "Rats! Rats!" arousing all the sleepers, to the indignation of some and the mirth of others. The scene ended with three cheers and a tiger, for "Rats." This light-heartedness was but the foam on the surface, and only ill concealed the troubled under-current that was gradually mining away the better feelings of our natures.
The mind of man is so constituted that he cannot be deprived of his liberty for any considerable time, without there being generated an inordinate desire to be free. Actual physical ills become secondary to this acute desire:
"The wish which ages have not yet subdued,
In man to have no master but his mood."
This feeling at length becomes morbid, the gay laugh becomes hollow and forced, the eye loses its fire, and a hopeless expression settles over the countenance like a pall.
The novelty of our situation had not yet worn away. We had been comparatively well treated, and, besides, we were planning an escape. Some negroes had contrived to communicate with us, and through them we had concocted a scheme for crossing the river. We had started a tunnel out of the yard from a closet, and were to be harbored by a negro family until we could procure some Confederate clothing. Two of the prisoners had formed the acquaintance of some women by talking through the fence, and through them had secured a suit of Confederate clothes. Clad in these, they had boldly walked out past the guards in open daylight, escaped across the river, and never were recaptured.