“Ah-h-h, ha-a-a!” chuckled the Sergeant; “that’s the reason why she was so close! but her closeness shall not save her any more than her sex shall! We’ll treat her as a spy! her name, my man! did you hear her name?” “Not the one she went by in the army; but I think _he_ called her Bridget Martin, or some such name. “Ah-h-h, ha-a-a! Miss Bridget Martin! I think we shall let in a little light upon you before long! I shouldn’t wonder if you were the very ‘orderly’ of Colonel Rosenthal who penetrated the camp of the Free Sword and betrayed him. We shall see! Keep up your courage, my man; I will send the stretcher back for you as soon as it has deposited the colonel.” And so saying, the sergeant, instead of going to other parts of the field, as he had intended, turned and followed the prisoners. The bearers supporting the stretcher upon which Colonel Rosenthal lay, moved rapidly onward over the rough ground to the great distress of the wounded man. Britomarte was driven closely behind him—literally _driven_; for if, after her day and night of severe and exhausting battle and toil, her woman’s fragile limbs gave way for a moment, her steps were promptly quickened by the point of the bayonet thrust against her shoulders. So over miles and miles of broken and rocky roads they were painfully marched to the rear of Lee’s army, and to an old barn that was used as a temporary depot for prisoners. Here, to her consternation, Britomarte was thrust in with a number of fellow captives, who were waiting to be transported to Richmond, while Colonel Rosenthal was borne off to the field hospital to have his wound looked to. There must have been more than a thousand prisoners crowded into that old barn. Britomarte, being one of the last taken, found herself near the door. And when it was closed and barred upon her, she could get no farther. She was like a late arrival at an overcrowded lecture-room—only this crowd was all standing, because there was no room to sit or lie down. The building was broken here and there, and through crevices a little air got in; this only prevented the prisoners from being suffocated. They were a patient and silent band of victims—only here and there was heard a groan wrung from some sufferer from disease or wounds; and now and then a curse struck out from some exasperated soldier who found himself squeezed nearly to death by the crowd. Britomarte, being small and slight, sank down upon the floor, with her back resting against the closed door. And notwithstanding her great mental anxiety—worn out in body and mind, and overcome with heat and fatigue—she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, that lasted perhaps two hours. She was rudely awakened by falling backwards. The door against which she had leaned had been suddenly opened, and she had gone over. Half bewildered by the deep sleep and the rude shock that had ended it, she picked herself up in time to hear the prison guard shout: