"Well, I'll be ——, if here ain't a fellow that has been in the army over three years and can't name the counties in which his regiment was raised."
"Take these men to the jail," now ordered the lieutenant, and we were led off to that place of abode, hearing, as we left the room, various interesting comments and much laughter.
They put us in a cabin, which was lined throughout with sheet iron, and which had no opening in it except the door. A pine torch furnished the light. The floor was covered with filth, and we had not been in there five minutes before the atmosphere had become almost unbearable.
I kicked loudly against the door, and soon a sergeant came to know what was wanted. He was told that we wanted to see the lieutenant at once, and he went away to call him.
When the officer came he was followed by a curious crowd, and, as they opened the door, I stepped forward and asked pleasantly if that was the way to treat Federal prisoners.
The lieutenant said that we were held as suspicious parties who could not account for themselves, and who were probably endeavoring to join the Yankee regiments now being organized in Little Rock, but that if we could satisfy him that we were Federal prisoners he would let us out and treat us as such.
Having made up our minds that our best course now was to be frank, we told him who we really were, and that we had escaped from the stockade at Tyler, Texas, and made our way so far north on foot.
As I told this I heard a remark in the crowd:
"Damned if they didn't deserve to get through."
The lieutenant turned, with a frown, and asked who made the remark, but he had a smothered grin on his face as he turned back and invited us out.