CHAPTER XXII. DIGGS GETS OUT OF HIS SCRAPE AGAIN.
Mr. Diggs' views, in the cold, dark prison, and through iron bars, of a soldier's life, were very gloomy. The first night of his incarceration, for hours, he tossed about unable to sleep.
"I am a failure," he moaned, "a miserable failure. I went into the army, intending to rise to be a general, and only got to be a corporal; then taken prisoner, lost my office, retaken by my own company and treated coolly. No chance of promotion, only kicks, cuffs, and bumps all through this cruel world. Others have risen to higher positions. There's Abner and Oleah, both captains. They were never taken prisoner, ducked in a creek, or thrown into a thorn bush; why should I? and now I am to be tried by a court-martial as a deserter, and I know I shall be killed."
"Shut up!" yelled half a dozen fellow prisoners. "Do you intend to sleep, or let any of us sleep to-night?"
"We're all going to be led out and shot to-morrow," whined Diggs.
"Well, is that any reason ye should be keepin' us awake all night?" replied one gruff fellow in an adjoining cell. The doors of all the cells were open.
Diggs was awed into silence by the tones of his companions, and, while wondering how these men could take their coming fate so coolly, fell asleep. He attributed his own emotions to the possession of finer sensibilities than those of his companions.
"What's to be done with us?" he asked next morning of the soldier who brought their breakfast.
"Don't know," was the reply, as that worthy set the breakfast on the stand and departed. Mr. Diggs did not have an excellent appetite.