which he
had no more conception than the dead charger he had ridden. Pain, pain,
nothing but intense pain, absorbed the whole of his faculties. Gradually
his full consciousness returned. He remembered the fierce onset of the
enemy, his fall from his horse, and at once concluded that he was a
prisoner in the hands of the enemy! Very soon after, he discovered that,
in addition to being deprived of his arms, he had been stripped of his
watch and other valuables.

One of the great annoyances to which a newly captured prisoner was
subjected, arose from the fact that skulkers and sneaks, in order to
secure safe positions, coveted and sought the privilege of quartering
them. In his own words Glazier says:

"The woods in the vicinity were full of skulkers, and, in order to make
a show of having something to do, they would make their appearance in
the rear of the fighting column, and devote themselves sedulously to
guarding the prisoners." He adds, that "privates, corporals and
sergeants, in turn, had them in charge;" and that "each in succession
would call them into line, count them in an officious manner, and issue
orders according to their liking," until some sneak of higher rank came
along, assumed the superior command, and in a tone of authority, would
say to the other poltroons: "Gentlemen, your services are much needed at
the front. Go, and do your duty like soldiers." The result would be an
exchange of tyrants, but no diminution of the petty tyranny. At dusk the
prisoners were marched to, and lodged in, the jail at Warrenton.

Like all Federal soldiers who fell into the enemy's hands, Glazier
complains very bitterly of the small persecutions inflicted by the
officers and men of the Home Guard, and unfortunately these mongrels--a
cross between a civilian and a soldier--were their chief custodians
during that night, and signalized themselves after their fashion. They
deprived the prisoners of their clothing, and, in truth, everything of
the slightest value in the eyes of a thief. One of these swashbucklers
attempted to reduce our young hero's wardrobe to an Arkansas basis,
namely, a straw-hat and a pair of spurs, with what success the following
dialogue, taken mainly from "The Capture, Prison-Pen, and Escape," will
indicate.

"Here, Yank," said the guard, "hand me that thar hat, and over-coat, and
boots."

"No, sir, I won't; they are my property. You have no right to take them
from me."

"I have," said the guard. "