"Escaped prisoners," we replied.
"Where did you make your escape?"
"Near Charleston."
"You don't pretend to say that you have come all the way from Charleston, right through the Reb country?"
"Yes, we do pretend that very thing."
"Well, it may be so, but I don't care about being hugged"—glancing towards us with a look expressive of mingled incredulity and disgust.
This rebuff had the effect to cool us down a bit, and when we came to look ourselves over, we could but confess that so far as personal appearance was concerned we were nothing to boast of. We were unshaven and unshorn, our rags barely sufficient for decency, barefooted or nearly so, bareheaded, and most miserably dirty. No wonder a well-clad Union soldier resented our familiarity!
We were disarmed, placed under charge of the guard, and marched to the headquarters of the Brigade, then commanded by Colonel Lampson, of an Indiana regiment.
After some delay we were ushered into the presence of the Colonel. He listened attentively to us, reducing each of our statements to writing. After he had finished, he sat a few moments in meditation.