“What luck have you had?” enquired Alfred as soon as he returned.

“See for yourself,” was the reply of Harry, as he threw down the coats and pants.

“Then everything needed is procured,” he observed.

“Yes,” replied Harry.  “We must now mix with the other prisoners, as if nothing was transpiring in our minds, like an attempt to escape.  It will be no use keeping away from them, as it is likely to excite suspicion.”

The two friends left the tent and proceeded to where a group of prisoners were seated.  Their appearance was greeted with cheers, as Harry was a universal favorite among both officers and men, on account of his lively and genial temper, combined with a fine voice for music—­an accomplishment that with soldiers endears, and makes a favorite of any person possessing it.  He was soon called upon for a song, and in accordance with the request commenced a song, and soon the rich and clear voice of the young man rang out on the air of the soft twilight.  He sang of home, and as each word fell with distinctness on the ears of the soldiers, who grouped around him, each heart throbbed with emotion, and each mind wandered back to the distant land, where, in the mansion, or in the little cottage, loved ones there dwelt, pining for those who were now prisoners in a foreign country.

The hour of nine having arrived, the soldiers dispersed to their respective quarters, and soon after the command “lights out” was uttered in stentorian notes.  Long and anxiously the two friends remained lying on their bunks in the tent, awaiting the hour of twelve.  Each moment seemed an hour to Alfred Wentworth, whose mind was wrought up to a pitch of excitement, almost unendurable.  Several times he rose from his bed and paced the tent.  At last the long wished for hour arrived.  Harry who had been smoking all the night, looked at his watch by the faint light the fire of his segar emitted, and perceived that it was only five minutes for twelve.  Crossing over to the bunk on which Alfred was lying, he whispered:  “It is time.”  Silently they put on the citizens clothes borrowed in the evening, and left the tent.  The night had changed from the pleasant, starry evening to a black and dismal gloom.  Heavy clouds covered the skies, giving every indication of rain.  The night was just such a one for an escape, and although the darkness was so intense, that it was impossible for the eye to penetrate a distance of five paces, both felt that their chance of escape was accelerated.

“Give me your hand,” whispered Harry, as soon as they had left the tent.

“Do you know the direct way to the gate,” asked Alfred,

“Yes,” he replied, “cease speaking now and follow me.  The least whisper may be heard, and then our attempt will be foiled.”

Grasping the hand of his friend, Alfred followed him, and they moved with noiseless tread toward the gate.  As soon as he descried the faint light of the sentinel’s lamp near him, Harry stopped, and stooping down gave a faint whistle.  For some time no answer was returned.  The two friends remained in almost breathless suspense awaiting the signal.  At last it was returned, and moving forward, they reached the gate.