The lieutenant asked the Yankee officers to step forward. “This is Captain Senn,” he said, “Commandant of the Post Guard.” Senn cleared his throat and faced the five. “You will be in my charge,” he said, looking at Dawson. “You will be imprisoned on the second floor of the jail. If you try to escape--and you don’t get shot--I’ll give you a spell of solitary confinement.” He tapped his foot, fingered the tassel that hung from the handle of his sword, and smiled frostily. “And where would you go?” Senn nodded to the fat corporal, who had a large ring of keys dangling from his belt. “This is Corporal Addison. He will show you to your quarters.” Addison’s heavy-lidded eyes moved dully from one Yankee face to the next. He stuck out his lower lip, motioned with his head, and shouldered his rifle. The five Yankee officers understood that they were to march at the corporal’s side. [Illustration: Richland Jail in Columbia, S. C., 1863 Showing Jailyard and Second Floor] They crossed the street, walked through a grove of trees and approached the back of the jail. There was a stout wooden enclosure around the jailyard. Addison pounded on a solid wooden gate at the back of the yard. “Addison with prisoners,” he shouted. After a sliding of wooden bars the gate was opened. The courtyard had an earthen floor. Close to the jail building and against the right-hand fence stood a small one-story brick building with two doorways facing the courtyard. At the near end of the small building was a rudely built woodshed, its back wall formed by the courtyard fence, its far side adjoining the small building. The other two walls were of thin, weathered planks that bulged outward near the bottom. Besides the guard who had admitted the prisoners, there was one other man who paced off a vigil along the fence. He stared with sharp hostility as the little column passed his station. The prisoners were taken through the door at the back of the jailhouse. Tim’s spirit was chilled as they passed along a dank corridor to the stair well at the front of the building. The door to the stairs was made of heavy wood. It had a small barred window near the top. The corporal unclipped the key ring from his belt, and after some deliberation picked out a key. He inserted it in the lock, turned it and pulled the door open. The five prisoners waited as the corporal replaced the key ring and fumbled with his rifle, signaling them to precede him up the stairs. They waited again in the dusky hallway on the second floor as the corporal lumbered up. Tim thought how easily they could overpower this lubberly man, get his keys, and let themselves out the front door to the street, but he remembered the guard who had stood under the lamp. He gritted his teeth and clasped his hands behind his back.