Coming down after awhile, I walked to the now open gate, and looped through it over the barren fields to the dense woods a mile away, and a wild desire to run off took possession of me.  It seemed as if I could not resist it.  The woods appeared full of enticing shapes, beckoning me to come to them, and the winds whispered in my ears: 

“Run!  Run!  Run!”

But the words of my parole were still fresh in my mind, and I stilled my frenzy to escape by turning back into the Stockade and looking away from the tempting view.

Once five new prisoners, the first we had seen in a long time, were brought in from Sherman’s army.  They were plump, well-conditioned, well-dressed, healthy, devil-may-care young fellows, whose confidence in themselves and in Sherman was simply limitless, and their contempt for all Rebels and especially those who terrorized over us, enormous.

“Come up here to headquarters,” said one of the Rebel officers to them as they stood talking to us; “and we’ll parole you.”

“O go to h—–­ with your parole,” said the spokesman of the crowd, with nonchalant contempt; “we don’t want none of your paroles.  Old Billy’ll parole us before Saturday.”

To us they said: 

“Now, you boys want to cheer right up; keep a stiff upper lip.  This thing’s workin’ all right.  Their old Confederacy’s goin’ to pieces like a house afire.  Sherman’s promenadin’ through it just as it suits him, and he’s liable to pay a visit at any hour.  We’re expectin’ him all the time, because it was generally understood all through the Army that we were to take the prison pen here in on our way.”

I mentioned my distrust of the concentration of Rebels at Cheraw, and their faces took on a look of supreme disdain.

“Now, don’t let that worry you a minute,” said the confident spokesman.  “All the Rebels between here and Lee’s Army can’t prevent Sherman from going just where he pleases.  Why, we’ve quit fightin’ ’em except with the Bummers advance.  We haven’t had to go into regular line of battle against them for I don’t know how long.  Sherman would like anything better than to have ’em make a stand somewhere so that he could get a good fair whack at ’em.”

No one can imagine the effect of all this upon us.  It was better than a carload of medicines and a train load of provisions would have been.  From the depths of despondency we sprang at once to tip-toe on the mountain-tops of expectation.  We did little day and night but listen for the sound of Sherman’s guns and discuss what we would do when he came.  We planned schemes of terrible vengeance on Barrett and Iverson, but these worthies had mysteriously disappeared—­whither no one knew.  There was hardly an hour of any night passed without some one of us fancying that he heard the welcome sound of distant firing.  As everybody knows, by listening intently at night, one can hear just exactly what he is intent upon hearing, and so was with us.  In the middle of the night boys listening awake with strained ears, would say: