Letters were concealed about their persons in a variety of places; in the lining of hats, coats, pants and boots, under shoulder straps, bandaged around sore legs, twisted up in small wads, and carried loosely in the pockets, concealed in plugs of tobacco, loaves of bread, etc. Maj. White, 67th Pennsylvania, hired a surgeon to let him go in his place, which he did. It being afterwards discovered—some Federal officer having divulged the fact—notice of it was telegraphed to City Point. The Major was stopped, and we were notified that unless we designated the surgeon left behind, our rations would be stopped. Some _craven-hearted coward_ pointed him out. The next day Major White was brought back, but was not punished. And such was life in Libby. It was not safe to trust any-one, save your most intimate friends and acquaintances. Volumes might be written of the brave things that were done in that terrible place, and then, again, of mean and cowardly things, done by men, whom at home were brave men and gentlemen. The only wonder is that every spark of manhood was not utterly crushed out of those so unfortunate as to be confined within its walls. Modern warfare presents no parallel in the treatment of prisoners, as devised and perpetrated by the chivalric gentlemen who managed the affairs of the so-called “Confederacy.” But enough has been told to convey some idea of our condition while prisoners—the many hopes deferred! the long, weary waiting, that made the heart sick nigh unto death. It is needless to follow our officers and men to other prisons, where many of them were sent, when our forces got in close proximity to Richmond. It would be the same old story, in some cases, perhaps, a little more revolting, but in the main, one Rebel prison was a sample of all the rest.