"He outranks me, and should I presume to do it I would be put into a dungeon myself, and probably die there without an investigation." Sister Backus and I went into the office, and the captain brought us a great roll, as large around as a man's hat. I unrolled a few feet, and read the name, regiment, company, offense, and penalty of each man, thus: For drunkenness, fifteen years hard labor with ball and chain, and all wages forfeited, except three dollars a month; for selling government property, eight years hard labor, with ball and chain, and all wages forfeited except three dollars a month. Some prisoners were sentenced to longer, others to shorter, terms; but upon all were imposed the same forfeitures, and all were put in irons. One man from near Battle Creek, Michigan, was sentenced for life. His offense was simply "suspicious character." No other reason for his sentence was given. I handed this fearful record to sister Backus, and we both read with heavy hearts. Every free State was represented. What can we do, we asked ourselves, for these poor men, some of whom are sick and dying with scurvy? This was a query hard to answer. I retired to bed, but not to sleep, wrestling in prayer to Him who hears the sighs of the prisoner to lead me to a door that would open for the 3,000 men in irons. The captain was a kind-hearted man, and told me that he had in many cases put the irons on so loosely that they could relieve themselves when out of his sight, but he charged them to be careful not to allow him to see them off. On account of the injustice of their sentences, he had favored them wherever he could do so, and keep his own record clear. The next day, April 10th, was Sunday. The morning was clear and beautiful. Sister Backus said: "You are sick, or very weary; for you groaned in your sleep so much last night." "I am not conscious of having groaned," I said; "but I did not sleep a wink. I am distressed, and have spent the night in prayer for a guiding hand to open a door of relief for these prisoners, and I must see them before I leave this island. I am this morning bearing as heavy a heart as at any period of this deadly strife." "Try and dismiss this subject if possible," she returned, "as they have appointed a meeting for us in the regiment, and I presume there will be an opportunity for you to see the prisoners." As best I could, I dismissed the all-absorbing theme; and according to previous arrangement we met the regiment, with a few gun-boat soldiers and the officers. We enjoyed a favored season, and found a liberty of spirit our dear Redeemer only can give. After closing the services to the peace of my own mind, and to the apparent satisfaction of the large congregation, Captain James Noyce came to me and said: "You are certainly too weary to visit the prisoners now." "O no," was my reply, "if you will allow me that privilege."