ere now joint expeditions against the potato holes on the line of our
road, where the surplus of the crop was stored for the winter, and the
guards and ourselves shared alike in the guilt and proceeds.

When we reached Shreveport, we were taken through the town to Four Miles
Springs, where I had been before, and here we were kept for six weeks.

A stockade and quarters had been built since my former visit, and things
were much more comfortable.

We soon built a comfortable cabin in partnership with some other
captured runaways who had just been brought to this stockade, and one of
these, Lieutenant Bushnell, of the 120th Illinois, became my berthmate
when lots were cast to see who should occupy the several rude bunks
erected in our mansion.

Sweet potatoes at this time were $10 a bushel in Confederate money, and
my supply of cash came in so handy that we were enabled to refuse all
rations and to live on the fat of the land; but we did not risk the gout
by so doing. The fat of the land in those days was so well streaked with
lean that everyone had to take much lean in order to get any fat, and
the rebels themselves did not live in luxury.

There were about 250 prisoners now at this point. The rations served to
them were brought in on a board. In order to get the privilege of doing
our own cooking we asked and obtained special permission to have our
rations served raw, and so we managed to have what we wanted.

There was a "greaser," from Mexico, on the outside, who made and sold
potato pies. I would get five for a $5 bill and give Bushnell two. At
the next pie meal he would reverse the order of things.

We made the acquaintance of a squad of men from the 16th Regiment of
Indiana Mounted Infantry, their leading spirit being a Captain Moore.

At roll-call the guards made the prisoners stand out in line, and Moore
was frequently prodded with a sword for hanging back and delaying
matters.

One day we made an excellent dummy from an old log and some clothes, and
carefully deposited it in Moore's bunk, covering it naturally with what
bedclothes we had. At next roll-call Moore was not to be found, and the
guards, after much swearing, went up to his cabin and found him,
apparently, in bed and asleep. After several calls and shakes,
accompanied by some artistic profanity, one of them prodded him gently
with his sword. A little harder punch followed, when he still slept, and
then a vicious one, when they threw back the co