ep forward singly, and were searched. Our coats and
vests were taken off, also our boots and shoes; and a Confederate
officer felt very carefully of all our clothing to make sure that
nothing was hidden. I "remembered to forget" that I had two ten-dollar
greenbacks compressed into a little wad in one corner of my watch fob;
and that corner escaped inspection. Dick Turpin never was the richer for
that money. They examined suspiciously a pocket edition of the New
Testament in the original Greek; but I assured them it was not some
diabolical Yankee cipher, and they allowed me to keep it. I made the
most of my freemasonry, and they permitted me to retain my overcoat. One
of our prisoners, it was whispered, had secretly stuffed $1300 in
greenbacks into his canteen, but all canteens were taken from us as
contraband of war, and nobody but "Uncle Sam" profited by the
concealment.

Having "gone through" us, they incarcerated the officers in one room,
the enlisted men in another.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] Dr. Fontleroy was a brother of Mrs. Major Whittlesey, one of my
fellow professors, instructor in military tactics, at Cornell
University. Whittlesey was a graduate of West Point, and, while there,
had had cadet U. S. Grant under his command!

CHAPTER IV

At Libby--Thence to Clover, Danville, Greensboro, and
Salisbury--Effort to Pledge us not to Attempt Escape.

The two rooms at Libby adjoined each other on the second floor, but a
solid brick wall was between them. When we entered, about a hundred and
fifty officers were already there. The first thing that attracted my
attention was an officer putting a loaf of bread through a small hole in
the partition where one or two bricks were removable. He was feeding a
hungry prisoner. A cap or hat nicely concealed the perforation.

Libby has a hard name, but it was the most comfortable of the six
Confederate prisons of which I saw the interior. With all his alleged
brutal severity, of which I saw no manifestation, and his ravenous
appetite for greenbacks, for which we could not blame him, Dick Turner
seemed an excellent disciplinarian. Everything went like clockwork. We
knew what to expect or rather what not to expect, and _when_! My diary
for Wednesday, September 28, 1864, the day after our arrival, reads as
follows:

The issue to us daily is
One gill of boiled beans,
One quarter gill of bean broth,
One half loaf of