The tent we occupied, when not on duty in the ward, stood just south of the surgeon's tent, and so near it that the ropes supporting it interlocked or crossed those which supported the surgeon's tent. In Ward No. 1 was the receptacle or place of deposit for all clothing that had been washed. Quite a lot of clothing, belonging in part to patients in the different wards, but mainly to the unfortunate ones who had died, was stored away for the use and benefit of those who might be insufficiently clothed. Wards No. 1 and 3 had been whitewashed, but Ward No. 2, which had been put up between them, at a subsequent date, was not. Near Ward No. 3, at the base of the hill, was a spring of water, from which the hospital was supplied. Between the wards and other hospital buildings, and all about over the hill-sides, stood tall and straight pines. To the north of the hospital, about three-quarters of a mile distant, was Dan River, with its swift, noisy waters, hedged in by steep, rugged banks. To the south-east and south were cleared lands, traversed by a branch and its tributaries. Still farther south were heavy woods, with one point of timber projecting some distance northward, into the cleared land toward the hospital. During the afternoon of February 19th, William Sutherland and myself were wheeling wood on a wheelbarrow from Ward No. 3 to Ward No. 1. Having to wheel it up hill it was a wearisome task, and we occasionally stopped for rest. Near four o'clock in the evening, while resting about half-way up the hill-side, Sutherland said to me, "It looks to me very much as if this hospital would be broken up soon." I agreed with him in his opinion, and remarked that our lease of time at the hospital was growing short. After a little further conversation, we resolved to consult with the other nurses on the propriety of attempting an escape, and get them to set out with us for our lines on the next night.