man could hardly stand, he was so cramped and exhausted by his long
confinement and want of food.

"Step in there!" said Hurst to the jailer. The jailer shrunk back.

"Step in there, you scoundrel!" said Hurst, more determinedly.

"You don't mean to put me in there, Hurst!" said the jailer, almost
whining.

"Step in, I say, or I'll let daylight through you!" He seized a gun from
one of the soldiers and pricked the jailer a little with the bayonet, to
let him know that he was in earnest. The other soldiers fenced him round
with a glittering line of sharp steel points. They chuckled, and thought
it capital fun.

The jailer stepped in, whining and begging, and saying that he never
meant to harm Hurst. Having got him inside, Hurst locked the door, put
the key in his pocket, dismissed the soldiers, and went away. He was
gone two days, and when he returned, _had lost the key_!

The cage was built of oak logs, and bolted so firmly with iron that it
took half a day, with axes, to get the jailer out. He never troubled
Hurst again, who joined the Union army as a scout, and did excellent
service, for he was well acquainted with the country.

While operations were going on at Island No. 10, I went up the river one
day, and visited the hospitals at Mound City and Paducah. In one of the
wards a surgeon was dressing the arm of a brave young Irishman, who was
very jolly. His arm had been torn by a piece of shell, but he did not
mind it much. The surgeon was performing an operation which was painful.

"Does it hurt, Patrick?" he asked.

"Ah! Doctor, ye nadent ask such a question as that; but if ye'll just
give me a good drink of whiskey, ye may squeeze it all day long."

He made up such a comical face that the sick and wounded all around him
laughed. It did them good, and Patrick knew it, and so, in the kindness
of his heart, he kept on making up faces, and never uttered a word of
complaint.

"He is a first-rate patient," said the surgeon as we passed along. "He
keeps up good spirits all the time, and that helps all the rest."

In another part of the hospital was one of Birges's sharpshooters, who
did such excellent service, you remember, at Fort Donelson. He was a
brave and noble boy. There were several kind ladies taking care of the
sick. Their presence was like sunshine. Wherever they walked the eyes of
the sufferers followed them. One of these ladies thus speaks of little
Frankie Bragg:--

"Many will remember him