ith us, and that the rebels feared to
let them go, as they would most certainly convey to our government
intelligence as to our whereabouts, condition, and treatment. This
view appeared still more probable, when I learned, since returning to
Washington, that the Confederate government had _officially_ denied
hanging any of the party. They have never yet acknowledged it.

The time wore wearily away here, as it had done before. The delay,
since the death of our friends, had now been so long extended, that we
began to believe that our lives might be spared. This conviction was
strengthened as the months rolled on.

At last a court-martial was convened--the first since the
ever-memorable one at Knoxville, and we awaited its action with the
utmost anxiety. A week of sickening suspense passed by, and no summons
came for us. Then the court adjourned, and we breathed freer. It now
seemed probable that they did not intend to prosecute the feeble
remnant of our party any further; and, passing from the extreme of
despair to that of hope, we began to indulge once more the blissful
expectation of being permitted to revisit the scenes of our loved
North, and stand beneath the "old flag," which we honored and
reverenced as the embodiment of liberty with law--the emblem of the
highest national life. But our time for freedom had not yet come.

The weeks rolled on. Few things occurred worthy of note. That same
monotony which makes prison-life so dreary, robs it of interest when
recorded. We would rise in the morning from our hard bed, and wash
ourselves, pouring the water upon each others' hands, and eat our
scanty breakfast; then loll listlessly around, seeking in vain for
anything which might relieve the almost unendurable tedium. When
dinner came, which was of the same quality as the breakfast, we would
eat it, and then try desperately to kill time until dark, when the gas
was lit--not from any favor to us, but that the guard could watch us
from the ever-open door, and see that we were working no plots to get
out.

This was the most cheerful hour of the day, for under the soft
inspiration of the gaslight, conversation flowed more freely, and all
the incidents of our past lives were rehearsed to attentive listeners.
To vary the subject, an argument would be started on science,
politics, or religion, and warmly discussed. When the talk would flag,
which was frequently not till the midnight bells were striking in the
town, we would