him to my heart's
content, I reminded him of our having crossed Sulphur Fork together,
when he said that he had been suspicious of us at the time. This was so
much of the "I-told-you-so" order that I had a good laugh at him for his
"hindsight."

The other officers kept dropping back to interview me, and I got their
curiosity inflamed to a high degree by talking familiarly of different
places and of an imaginary plan of an underground railroad. This caused
the officers to become agitated, and I saw that they suspected me of
something serious. When a detail was finally sent to take me before the
officer in command I concluded that the matter had gone far enough, and,
when questioned, I explained how I had become acquainted, on a previous
runaway trip, with the people and places spoken of so familiarly. The
matter ended in much laughter and some jokes.

During the rest of the march I talked negro suffrage and equality, at
times nearly driving our captors wild by picturing the pleasures to come
to them when these liberties should prevail. They got mad at times, but
seemed to like hearing me talk, and evidently saw that I said more than
I meant in some ways; yet I told many truths--which made them mad--about
the actual practice by Southern whites of equality with negroes, as
evidenced by the thousands of mulattoes among them.

Another source of amusement to me was to bother the guard at night by
sleeping away from my companions and as near the guard line as I could.
The guards would remonstrate and get mad, but I would blarney them a
little and say that I had money on my person which I was afraid my
companions would steal, and that I wanted to keep close to them for
protection. They could not reasonably object to this, but it made them
keep an eye on me in particular, and the various characteristics of the
different men were a constant source of study and amusement.

My feelings on this journey were of a kind that kept me constantly on
the "_qui vive_" for something to divert my mind from reflections. To
have escaped twice and been recaptured each time was bad enough,
especially when one venture had been so nearly a success, and the
failure through treachery of the last attempt to get away had seemed to
cap the climax at the time; but to see all my regimental comrades file
before me on their way to home and friends, while I was sent back to
confinement, was the proverbial last straw--only, in this case, it did
not break