h longer, that I should at least
have better food and more of it. I asked him if it would not be possible
for an arrangement to be effected whereby some of my relatives in the
north should furnish a Confederate prisoner with food, clothing, and
comforts, and that prisoner's relatives in the south should reciprocate
by supplying me. He answered that it might be possible, but he did not
know of any such southern captive's friends likely to respond. After a
few minutes of silence he said:

"Colonel Sprague, I'd like to do something for you, and I'll make you an
offer."

"Well?"

"Your government has adopted the devilish policy of no exchange of
prisoners."

"I am afraid it's true."

"I know it's true."

"Well, what's your proposition?"

"I am overworked here. I must do my duty to my government. Our cause is
just."

"Well?"

"I should like to have you assist me by doing writing regularly for me
at these headquarters. I would parole you. You shall have a room to
yourself, a good bed, plenty of food, and a good deal of liberty. You
must give me your word of honor not to attempt to escape."

"Colonel Smith, I thank you. I appreciate the friendly spirit in which
you make the offer, and I am very grateful for it. But I can't
conscientiously accept it. I am in the Union Army, bound to do
everything in my power to destroy your government. I must do nothing to
help it. If Lincoln refuses to exchange us prisoners, it may be best for
the United States, though hard on us. What happens to us is a minor
matter. It's a soldier's business to die for his country rather than
help its enemies in the slightest degree. I can't entertain your
proposal."

So the conference ended sadly. As I was leaving his office he introduced
me to a Confederate soldier who sat there and who had heard the whole
conversation. Next day this soldier entered the prison by permission of
Colonel Smith and brought me some nice wheat bread, some milk, pickles,
and other food, a pair of thick woolen stockings, and a hundred dollars
in Confederate money. He gave me his name, John F. Ficklin, of the
Virginia _Black Horse Cavalry_. He whispered to me that he was at heart
a Union man, but had been forced by circumstances to enter the
Confederate service; that by simulating illness he had got relieved from
duty at the front and assigned to service at Colonel Smith's
headquarters; that he was confident he could bring about such an
arrangement for reciprocal s