The name of Mosby was a holy terror to the Federals in that part of Virginia.  Silently we prayed that Mosby might make a dash and rescue us.  All night long we vainly listened for the clatter of the hoops of Mosby’s troopers.  But, alas!  Mosby did not come.  The rumor was false.  We took up the night march under double guard.  A line of cavalry was placed outside the already heavy infantry guard.  The night was dark and drizzly—­a good night to escape, had not the guard been so heavy.  There were two infantry guards to every four prisoners, besides the outer cavalry guard.  The hope of an escape was a forlorn one, but I made the attempt and succeeded in passing both guards, but in my ecstacy I foolishly ran in the dark, and ran right squarely against a plank fence with so much force as to attract the attention of a cavalryman, who was soon at my side and escorted me back with a “d——­n you, stay in your place.”  Several prisoners more fortunate than myself did succeed in making their escape in the darkness.

The guards had kindly informed us that at Harper’s Ferry we would be searched and relieved of all valuables, and if we had a knife or anything that we desired to retain, they would keep it for us until after the search.  This promise they sacredly kept.  The search, or robbery as I call it, was very rigid.  Like vandals, they searched every pocket and relieved us of all money, pocket-books, knives, keys, and every other thing, except our tobacco.  I beat them a little, notwithstanding their rigid search.  I had a five-dollar greenback note inside of my sock at the bottom of my boot.  This they failed to find.

From Harper’s Ferry to Baltimore, the trip was by rail at night.  The guard had now been greatly reduced, only eight to each coach.  They had got plenty of whiskey for themselves and for all who wanted it.  We were having a jolly good time.  At this point, knowing that we were in a friendly part of Maryland, I conceived the idea of making a dash for the guns of the guard, uncoupling the rear coaches, put on the brakes, and make our escape across the Potomac.  This plan was quietly communicated to all the prisoners in this the rear coach.  All agreed to the plan, except Lieutenant Colonel McMichael, of the Twentieth South Carolina Regiment.  He protested so strongly that the plan was abandoned.  The trip from this on to Fort Delaware was without incident or special interest.

On our arrival at Fort Delaware we were again subjected to a rigid examination and search, and what few trinkets the kind guards saved for us at Harper’s Ferry, were now taken away from us.  I, however, saved my five-dollar greenback note, which was safely ensconced inside my sock at the bottom of my foot.  Here officers and privates were separated and registered, each as to command, rank, and state.  The heavy gates swung open with a doleful noise.  We marched in amid the shouts of the old prisoners, “fresh fish,” “fresh fish.”  I wanted to fight right then and there.  I did not want to be guyed.  I wanted sympathy, not guying.  “Fresh fish” was the greeting all new arrivals received, and I being an apt scholar, soon learned to shout “fresh fish” as loud as a Texas cowboy.