All at once it struck me that with all our progress the hounds sounded as near as when we started.  I shivered at the thought, and though nearly ready to drop with fatigue, urged myself and Harney on.

An instant later their baying rang out on the still night air right behind us, and with fearful distinctness.  There was no mistake now; they had found our trail, and were running us down.  The change from fearful apprehension to the crushing reality stopped us stock-still in our tracks.

At the next breath the hounds came bursting through the woods in plain sight, and in full cry.  We obeyed our first impulse; rushed back into the swamp, forced our way for a few yards through the flesh-tearing impediments, until we gained a large cypress, upon whose great knees we climbed—­thoroughly exhausted—­just as the yelping pack reached the edge of the water, and stopped there and bayed at us.  It was a physical impossibility for us to go another step.

In a moment the low-browed villain who had charge of the hounds came galloping up on his mule, tooting signals to his dogs as he came, on the cow-horn slung from his shoulders.

He immediately discovered us, covered us with his revolver, and yelled out: 

“Come ashore, there, quick:  you——­ ——­ ——­ ——­s!”

There was no help for it.  We climbed down off the knees and started towards the land.  As we neared it, the hounds became almost frantic, and it seemed as if we would be torn to pieces the moment they could reach us.  But the master dismounted and drove them back.  He was surly —­even savage—­to us, but seemed in too much hurry to get back to waste any time annoying us with the dogs.  He ordered us to get around in front of the mule, and start back to camp.  We moved as rapidly as our fatigue and our lacerated feet would allow us, and before midnight were again in the hospital, fatigued, filthy, torn, bruised and wretched beyond description or conception.

The next morning we were turned back into the Stockade as punishment.

CHAPTER XLIX.

August—­good luck in not meeting Captain Wirz—­that WORTHY’S treatment of recaptured prisoners—­secret societies in prison—­singular meeting and its result—­discovery and removal of the officers among the enlisted men.

Harney and I were specially fortunate in being turned back into the Stockade without being brought before Captain Wirz.