He had given food and shelter to some of the prisoners who escaped from
the horrible place, and had piloted them through the woods, and for this
was arrested and thrown into the prison.

Uncle Peter took a great liking to Paul, and, when Paul was
down-hearted, cheered him by saying: "Never you give up. Don't let go of
de hand of de good Lord. It is mighty hard to bear such treatment, but
we colored people have borne it all our lives. But 'pears like my heart
would break when I think of my children sold down Souf." Uncle Peter
wiped his eyes with his tattered coat-sleeve, and added: "But de Lord is
coming to judge de earth with righteousness, and den I reckon de Rebs
will catch it."

Uncle Peter dug roots and cooked Paul's food for him, for the Rebels
would not allow them any wood, although there was a forest near the
prison. Paul could not keep back the tears when he saw how kind Uncle
Peter was. He thought that he never should weep again, for he felt that
the fountains of his heart were drying up. Uncle Peter sat by him
through the long days, fanning him with his old tattered straw hat,
brushing the flies from his face, moistening his lips with water, and
bathing his brow. He was as black as charcoal, and had a great nose and
thick lips,--but notwithstanding all that Paul loved him.

Thus the days and weeks and months went by, Uncle Peter keeping the
breath of life in Paul's body, while thousands of his comrades died.
There was no change in prison affairs for the better. There was no hope
of release, no prospect of deliverance,--no words from home, no cheering
news, no intelligence, except from other prisoners captured from time to
time, and sent to the horrible slaughter-pen to become maniacs and
idiots,--to be murdered,--to die of starvation and rottenness,--to be
borne out in the dead-cart to the trenches.

Though Paul sometimes was sorely tempted to yield to despondency, there
were hours when, with clear vision, he looked beyond the horrors of the
prison to the time when God would balance the scales of justice, and
permit judgment to be executed, not only upon the fiend Wirz, who had
charge of the prison, but also upon Jeff Davis and the leaders of the
rebellion. And though his sufferings were terrible to bear, there was
not a moment when he was sorry that he had enlisted to save his country.
So through all the gloom and darkness his patriotism and devotion shone
like a star which never sets.

CHAPTER XX