Here the routine of prison life did not differ materially from that at Atlanta. We had to go down to the court (the building was square, and built with an open court in the center) to wash in the morning, and were immediately taken back to our stall, and locked up. But the principal difference was our want of fire. This made it our greatest difficulty to keep warm, and effectually destroyed all those pleasant fireside chats that had done so much to make our condition endurable in the Atlanta barracks. As the darkness and coldness of night drew on, we were compelled to pace the floor, trying to keep warm; and when sleep became a necessity, we would all pile down in a huddle, as pigs sometimes do, and spread over us the thin protection of our two bits of carpet. Thus we would lie until too cold to remain longer, and then arise and resume our walk. We had always plenty of light, except when the awkwardness of the gas managers left the whole city in darkness, which was frequently the case. We never omitted our devotions. For awhile the deserters outside, who were composed of the very scum of Southern society, many of them being the rowdies, gamblers, and cutthroats of the large cities, tried to interrupt us by every means in their power; but finding that their efforts produced no effect, they finally gave over, and left us to pursue our own way in peace. We found afterward, when, for a short time, we were put among them, that they respected us the more for it. Thus it will always be when perseverance is exercised in a good cause. A few days after our arrival, we noticed a great stir among the prisoners at the Libby, which was plainly in view across the road, and but a short distance from us. We learned that a truce-boat had arrived. Soon a body of United States soldiers came up the street by us, and our five friends with them. As they passed our window, they waved their hands in farewell, and continued their journey. No doubt they were soon with their friends at home.[11] The parting was a hard one for us. It seemed so much like fulfilling the passage of Scripture--"One shall be taken and the other left," that we turned away from the window feeling again the gloom which darkened the first day of our arrival. We felt utterly deserted and alone; yet we were glad that some had been able to escape from the power of this accursed rebellion, "every throb of whose life is a crime against the very race to which we belong." [11] A letter was received from one of them by my father a short time ago. He had not heard of our release, but described our parting, and gave a rumor which he had heard of our subsequent execution.