“Wonder how long we’ll have to remain here?” put in another of the prisoners. “Sergeant, what do you think about it?” and he turned to the Confederate officer who was posting two guards at the doorway. “I reckon you’ll stay here until McClellan surrenders,” was the answer, with a grin, and then the prisoner muttered something far from fit for our pages. It was nearly dark and that night the prisoners were left without supper after a march of six miles, to make themselves as comfortable as they could. There was nothing to lie upon but the hard and greasy floor, with one’s cap for a pillow, and no blankets but such as a few had brought along. The smell made Louis sick at his stomach and he hung at one of the windows for fresh air until one of the guards ordered him away. In the morning a negro appeared with a basket, a kettle, and a number of tin cups. The basket contained stale bread cut into chunks, and the kettle black coffee. For breakfast every prisoner was given a cup of coffee and two chunks of bread. Later on the whole rations for one day were served at once, half a pound of bread and a bowl of soup with meat, or beans and bacon--all of the plainest and, at times, not overly wholesome. On such a diet a “square meal” was entirely out of the question. From one of the windows the prisoners could see a side street of the city; the other openings looked down upon a yard littered with casks and barrels and surrounded by business structures of wood and stone. The street always presented a lively appearance, not on account of the business transacted, for that was very little, but because the soldiers were moving to and fro constantly and the crowds of curious ones followed them. “If only we could get free,” whispered Louis to Hornsby. He had no desire to remain a prisoner, in such a place and on such rations, and while he felt sure the Union army needed the services of every man who was enrolled. “Hush!” murmured Hornsby. “I was thinking the same thing, lad; but don’t let the guard dream of what’s in your mind, or he’ll shoot you down like a dog.” “Will you go with me if any chance to run for it happens?” “Yes--if it ain’t too risky.” No more could be said that day. But late in the afternoon Louis, while walking around the lower end of the room, saw something projecting from a shelf three feet above his head. He drew Hornsby to one side, and when the guard was not looking, got the man to hoist him up. The object proved to be a chisel, two inches broad, eighteen inches long, and very thick and heavy. Louis secreted it in his clothes. One other prisoner, a man named Ray, saw the movements, but merely grinned. After this Louis examined one after another of the fastenings across the windows. Most of the bits of joist were too well spiked on for him to think of loosening them without considerable noise. But there was one which was shaky, and by inserting the chisel under it the lower end became detached from the window sill.