leaf, and poured coffee out in the only cup I had. He kicked on
using the cup, but I said we would both drink out of it. He said, "you
are very kind, sir," and that was all he said during the meal. But how he
_did_ eat. He tried to act as though he didn't care much for dinner, and
as though he was eating out of courtesy to me, but I could tell by the
way the sweet potato went down in the depths of my Confederate friend,
and by the joyous look when a swallow of coffee hit the right place,
that he was having a picnic.

When we were through with dinner and the guard and the other prisoner
were cooking theirs, he said, "My friend, I do not mind telling you
now that I was much in need of food. I had not eaten since yesterday
morning, as we have been riding hard to intercept you gentlemen, sir.
I trust I shall live long enough to repay, you sir." I told him not to
mention it, as all our boys made it a point to divide when we captured a
prisoner. He said he believed his people felt the same way, but God knew
they had little to divide. He said he trembled when he thought that some
of our men who were prisoners in the south were faring very poorly, but
it could not be helped. "Suppose I had captured you," he said, with a
smile that was forced, "I could not have given you a mouthful of bread,
until we had found a southern family that 'had bread to spare.'" I told
him it was pretty tough, but it would all be over before long, and then
we would all have plenty to eat. I got out a pack of cards, and the
confederate captain played seven-up with me, while we smoked. Presently
nine buglers came down to where we were, formed in line, and began to
sound cavalry calls in concert. I knew that they were the music teachers
the colonel had sent to teach me the calls. The confederate looked on
in astonishment, while they sounded a call, and when it was done I asked
the chief bugler what it was, and he told me, and I asked him to sound
something else, which he did. My idea was to convince the prisoner that
this was a part of daily routine. He got nervous and couldn't remember
which was trumps; and finally said we might talk all we pleased about
the horrors of Andersonville, but to be blowed to death with cavalry
bugles was a fate that only the most hardened criminals should suffer.
The confederate evidently had no ear for music more than I had, and
he soon got enough. However the buglers kept up their noise till about
supper time, when they were