ooking
prisoners. Some were Union men, and others were deserters from their
own rebel ranks. These constituted the _lower_ class of prisoners, and
were permitted to range over most of the building, which was
completely encircled outside by a strong guard.

The higher class, or those who were charged with more desperate
offences, were shut up in cages. There were five of these. Two of them
were at once cleared for our reception. The smaller one was about
seven feet by nine, and four of us were put into it. The larger, in
which the remainder of the party were placed, was perhaps ten by
twelve. The latter was the cage in which Parson Brownlow had been
confined, and we felt honored by being in the same cell that this
noble champion of the Union had once occupied.

While in this cage, we read an article in a copy of the _Knoxville
Register_, stating that Brownlow was in the North, humbugging the
Yankees by telling them that he had been kept in an iron cage, and
fired at by his guards, when everybody in that vicinity knew that the
whole thing was a falsity. Even while we read this, we looked at the
shot-marks which were still visible on the cage, and which the guards
and prisoners assured us had been made in the way Brownlow stated.
This may serve as a specimen of the manner in which Southern papers
are accustomed to deal with facts.

It was in the latter part of May when we arrived in Knoxville, and
_outside_, the weather was intensely warm, but _inside_, from the
enormous masses of stone and iron around, it was quite cool. Indeed
the nights, which are always cool, even in midsummer, in the warmest
parts of the South, were here very cold, and as we had no beds or
blankets, but had to lie on the partly iron floor, we suffered
greatly.

Here we formed the acquaintance of a few Tennesseeans, who continued
with us during the remainder of our sojourn in Dixie. One of the most
remarkable of their number was named Pierce. He was some sixty years
old, and had received a stroke with a gun-barrel, right down his
forehead, which, even after healing, had left a gash more than an inch
deep. From this he was denominated, "Gun-barrel," "Forked head," &c.
He was at the same time very religious and very profane. His voice
would first be heard singing hymns, and next cursing the Confederacy
in no measured terms. He was, however, a very clever man, and almost
adored the name of a Union soldier.

Here it was that we first became acquaint