A little later, one of my ministerial brethren was lodged in the same prison. After having been there for several weeks, being in great anguish of spirit, he sent for me. When I met him he entreated me to secure if possible his discharge from that repulsive place. My heart was touched at his distress, and I assured him that the military authorities would gladly release him if he would take the oath of allegiance to the United States. I urged that this was a very reasonable demand on the part of the government that had protected his property and person for many years, and had never interfered in the slightest degree with his rights or liberty. He was, however, unconvinced, and sullenly refused to do what I urged upon him. But a few days afterwards, sick at heart from lying in prison, he decided to take the oath, did so, and was discharged. But when he went out to his freedom his conscience smote him for what he had done. He walked along the street hesitatingly and in zigzag lines. At times he stopped and gazed intently on the pavement. One of his friends met him and asked: “What is the matter?” He replied: “Matter enough, I was overpersuaded to take the oath of allegiance to the awful government of the United States, and feel as if I should go to hell.” Such were some of the military prisons and such were some of the prisoners in St. Louis during the civil war. Those who kept these prisons and guarded these prisoners were patriots, intent on preserving the Union; those who were incarcerated and guarded were equally intent on disrupting the Union and establishing the Southern Confederacy, whose corner-stone, according to its Vice-President, was slavery. Both could not have been right, but both believed themselves to be right, and suffered for their faith. CHAPTER XIII LYON IN CONFERENCE AND IN CAMPAIGN