s" from the field.

The contiguity of friends of course presented a strong temptation to
some to strike for liberty. Every device promising the least chance
of escape was therefore resorted to. Among the most ingenious of these
was one so graphically described by young Glazier that we make no
apology for again using his language:

[Illustration: Prison Pen, Macon, Georgia. Tunneling--the
Narrow Path To Freedom.]

"The night being very dark," he writes, "and the soil where we were
huddled together very sandy and light, many of the prisoners dug holes
in the ground and there buried themselves, hoping thus to escape the
observation of the guard when we should be marched from the field to the
cars. Unfortunately, however, the scheme was exposed by one of the guard
who accidentally stumbled into one of the holes, in the bottom of which
he beheld a 'live Yankee.' Struck with amazement, he shouted out: 'Oh,
my G--, Captain, here is a Yankee buried alive!' Great excitement was
the natural consequence. A general search ensued, torch-lights were
used, and the trees and ground thoroughly inspected. This investigation
brought to light several holes of a similar character, each having
deposited therein a Federal prisoner. The guards were very angry and
went about shouting, 'Run them through! Pick up the d----d hounds!' but
their captain, a good-natured sort of man, stopped all this. 'No,' said
he, 'the d----d Yankees have a right to escape if they can. Let them
alone. I'll risk their getting away from me!'"

Some of the burrowers did escape, however, and several others hid
themselves in the foliage and were left behind.

After this nothing eventful occurred upon the way, and on the fifteenth
of the same month, the whole party arrived at Augusta, Georgia, and
found the home guards, to whose custody they were consigned, a bad lot.
From that city they were soon after removed to Macon. Up to this
period, amid all the mortifications of their condition, notwithstanding
their tiresome rides and weary marches; despite the chagrin they
naturally felt when well-laid plans of escape were frustrated by
accidents beyond the power of men to foresee, they still had one source
of consolation--there was at least one drop of balm in Gilead--_for had
they not gotten rid of--Turner!_

Judge, then, of their mingled horror and despair when they reached the
front gate of Camp Oglethorpe, their future prison, to find that monster
before them, loungi