I had a high notion, those days, of the duty of a soldier. My father had always told me there was no greater glory for anybody than that of a brave death. Somehow the feeling got to be part of me. While I had little fear of death, I dreaded to be shot like a felon. But I should be dying for my country, and that feeling seemed to light the shadows. When I fell asleep, after much worry, it was to dream of my three countrymen who had fallen to their faces there by the corn. I awoke to find the guard in our cell, and D'ri and he whispering together. He had come with our breakfast. "All I want," D'ri was saying, "is a piece of iron, with a sharp end, half es long es yer arm." He made no answer, that big, sullen, bull-dog man who brought our food to us. When he had gone, D'ri lay over and began laughing under his breath. "His thinker's goin' luk a sawmill," he whispered. "Would n't wonder ef it kep' 'im awake nights. He was askin' 'bout thet air tew thousan' dollars. Ef they 'll let us alone fer three days, we 'll be out o' here. Now, you mark my word." "How?" I inquired. "Jest a leetle job o' slidin' downhill," he said. "There's a big drain-pipe goes under this cell--t' the river, prob'ly. He says it's bigger 'n a barrel." We saved our candle that day, and walked up and down, from wall to wall, for exercise. Our hopes were high when we heard footsteps, but they fell suddenly, for, as we listened, we could hear the tramp of a squad of men. They came to our cell, and took us upstairs, blind-folded as before, to a bath-room, where the uniforms, discarded the day of our capture, were waiting for us, newly pressed. Our bath over, they directed us to put them on. They gave us new hats, for our own had been lost the night of the wreck, covered our eyes, and led us through many doors and alleys into the open air. It was dark, I knew, for as we entered a carriage I could see dimly the glow of a lantern hanging over the wheel. The carriage went away swiftly on a level road. We sat knee to knee, with two men facing us, and not a word was spoken. We could hear hoofs falling, the rattle of bit and rein, the creak of saddle-leather on each side of us. We must have gone a long journey when the carriage halted. They pulled us out roughly and led us up three steps and across a deep veranda. A bell rang, a door swung open, a flood of light fell on us, filtering to our eyes. Entering, we could feel a carpet under us, and took a dozen paces or more before they bade us halt. We heard only the low-spoken order and the soft tread of our feet. There was a dead silence when they removed our fetters and unbound our eyes. We were standing in a big and sumptuous drawing-room. A company of gentlemen sat near us in arm-chairs; there were at least a score of them. Round tables of old mahogany stood near, on which were glasses and packs of cards and wine-bottles. The young man who sat