Though we knew it not then, the life of every man in that Knoxville prison was trembling in the balance. For one whole week--seven days--the trials went on, the same forms being used in the case of each man, who was taken out for an hour and returned, knowing nothing of his sentence, having heard no pleading against himself, and being treated in no sense differently after his trial. On the seventh day we read that General Mitchel had advanced to Chattanooga and was shelling the town across the river, and also, that the Federal General Morgan was advancing from Cumberland Gap, and threatening Knoxville. We fervently hoped that the latter would settle the question of our fate by capturing the town while we were still in it. This would have done away with all further perplexity as to the decision of the court-martial! This advance did prevent all further trials. The officers of the court were hurried off to their regiments to resist the enemy. From the newspapers, which some prisoners managed to obtain every day, and then loaned or read to all the others, we were kept well informed as to the progress of events. Some of the intelligence they brought thrilled us to our souls. More than a week before this we read of the escape of Andrews and Wollam from the Chattanooga prison. We greatly rejoiced, believing firmly that our leader would be sure to get to our lines, and then use all his influence to secure some form of help for us. The news of his recapture overthrew all these hopes and filled us with anxious apprehension, although we were ignorant of his being sentenced to death. Of the fate of Wollam nothing was stated. But a more terrible blow was in store. One day a newspaper was silently passed up to our cage by some friend outside, and, glancing at it, the first thing that arrested our attention was an account of _the execution of Andrews_! With equal silence we sent it into the other cage. Just before this deadly intelligence came we had been engaged in story-telling and in various games, for we were always merry, refusing to indulge in gloomy forebodings. But this was the sudden opening of an awful gulf at our feet. All noise and merriment were suspended, and we passed the whole day in mourning. We could not talk to our guards as lightly as we had done before, for there was now blood between us. We all loved Andrews, and would have undergone any peril to save him, but there was no possibility now even of vengeance. And, although his fate was governed by different principles from ours, we could not help feeling more distrustful of our own position.