Yesterday, at 2 P. M., we halted near a village five miles from here to secure the first decent meal since we broke camp. Our sub-officers and privates received good pickled meat with vegetables, pumpernickel (black bread) and rye whiskey. The officers were taken into the village and billeted on comfortable houses for refreshments. Before I started I cut out of the belt of my drawers six napoleons d'or, which I divided between my brothers, informing them that we were not far from Dömitz. They understood me well, and wished me God-speed, promising to follow my example if any opportunity occurred before they were exchanged. Their last injunction was to report them to you, my dear parents, in good health and spirits and bravely resigned to fate; and it was mainly the hope and desire to treat you to this satisfaction that nerved me to the risk and pain of separation from the dear boys in their deplorable condition. I would have given one half of my remaining life to be able to carry them away in my breeches pockets. It was because they truly felt this that they cheerfully forgave me this desertion. God bless and protect them for ever, for better sons and brothers and truer soldiers never lived! [Illustration: BASHKIR SHORN AND COMBED.] It was here that I had resolved to attempt my escape, as for many miles around I had, during a protracted occupancy, gained a number of personal friends, whose feelings I hoped to find unaltered by reverse of fortune. By the favor of Heaven I was destined to succeed, so far, beyond expectation. My captain, sub-lieutenant and myself were billeted on one of the last houses on the road leading to Dömitz, and in charge of a single Bashkir, a grizzly, good-humored old fellow, and not the very brightest of the lot. After seeing us comfortably seated around a savory dinner, he squarely established himself in the front-door, where he was soon absorbed in the dissection of a huge plate of fishes steeped in fragrant linseed oil. I should here add that spoons and forks seem unknown to the Bashkir family, except as trophies of war, especially when they happen to be of silver. After replenishing my French stomach by means of a regular Mecklenburger appetite, I left my companions engaged in garnishing their pockets with the remnants of the feast, and stepped out into the yard bareheaded and carelessly picking my teeth. Having secured the good-will of my Bashkir friend by tasting a bite or two of his greasy fish, I proceeded to entertain him with a variety of gymnastic pranks, especially challenging his admiration by balancing his lance on the end of my nose until it looked as flat as his own. This complimentary trick delighted him to such an extent that the corners of his mouth carried the tips of his broom-sedge moustache several inches behind his ears. There was not a human being in the street or yard, the bulk of the population having flocked out to stare at the rest of the prisoners.