e rest suffered from cold.

Three or four of us, as a sanitary measure, made it a point to see, if
possible, the funny, or at least the bright side of everything, turn
melancholy to mirth, shadow to sunshine. When every officer complained
of cold, we claimed to anticipate the philosophers, Tyndall, Huxley, and
the other physicists, in declaring that "heat is a mode of _motion_,"
and brisk bodily exercise will infallibly demonstrate the fact! When, as
was usually the case, all were hungry, we announced as a sure cure for
indigestion, "stop _eating_!" When our prisoner chaplain Emerson on a
Sunday afternoon prayed for the dear ones we expected to see no more,
and even the roughest and most profane were in tears, we said with old
Homer, "_Agathoi aridakrues andres_" ("Gallant men are easily moved to
tears"), or with Bayard Taylor, "The bravest are the tenderest, the
loving are the daring."

Most humiliating of all was the inevitable plague of vermin. "Hard
indeed," one officer was accustomed to say, "must have been Pharaoh's
heart, and tougher yet his epidermis, if the lice of the third Egyptian
plague were like those of Danville, and yet he would not 'let Israel
go.'" Wearing the same clothing night and day, sitting on the bare
floors, sleeping there in contact with companions not over-nice, no
patient labor, no exterminating unguent, afforded much relief. We lost
all squeamishness, all delicacy on the subject, all inclination for
concealment. It was not a returned Danville prisoner who was reported to
have gone into a drug store in New York stealthily scratching and
saying, "I want some unguentum; don't want it for myself; only want it
for a friend." But it was reported and believed that in April one of
them entered an apothecary shop in Annapolis plying his finger-nails and
hurriedly asking, "Have you any bmsquintum?"--"From your manner,"
answered the courteous druggist, "I think what you want is
unguentum."--"Yes, _run git 'em_; I guess that _is_ the true
name."--"Unguentum, sir"; said the shopkeeper. "How much unguentum do
you want?"--"Well, I reckon about two pound!"--"My dear sir, two pounds
would kill all the lice in Maryland."--"Well, I vow I believe I've got
'em!"

Lieut.-Col. Robert C. Smith of Baltimore, who took command of the
Danville prisons soon after our arrival, appeared to be kind-hearted,
compassionate, but woefully destitute of what Mrs. Stowe calls
"faculty." He was of medium height, spare build, f