The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1892-09-23
4 FAIR BLOCKADE BREAKER.
BY T. G. De Leon.


west towards which the train was
whirling him so fast. With the fading
light anxiety came back, and he felt
once more for the paper, eagerly, but
cautiously, slipping his hand in the
pocket and breaking the threads where
they felt wea lzest. Then, with eyes
fastened upon the sleepy guard, he
opened cheap Bible, tossed in to him
by spinster with corkscrew curls at
stopping-place. His : eye, aimlessly
dropped upon the page, caught 1
Kings 1921: GLOW long halt We be-
tween two opinions?' the thought
flashed into his brain: can omen!
will accept it!' But the guard looked
in his direction; and, hesitating, he
again glanced at the turned page and
read-Proverbs ISL: .The wicked
flee when no man pursueth; but the
righteous are bold as lion .m
Hesitant no longer, he cautiously
slipped the penciled scrap from pocket
to Bible, pressing it smooth between
the leaves. Then, in the dying sunset,
he read:
keep brave heart. We will meet
soon You will recognize me by the
words: we have met before, boy! You
are going to Camp Morton. I plan your
release, if God wills" S18
A load seemed to press on the boys
brain, making him dizzy, as he read the
last words.
Among the many dreadful prison
pens Camp Morton was accounted the
very worst, and hideous tales-perhaps
exaggerated in transit even beyond the
hideous reality-had crept across the
border as to its privations and horrors.
He was going to Camp Morton! Mem
ory recalled those wretched wrecks of
what had once been men, Exchanged
after months of lingering torment
there And the clacl-clack of the wheels
beneath him seemed to form into words
of those tales told. To Camp Morton!
to misery, cold, starvation-to living
death-for how long? And again his
eye fell upon the paper, the penciling
blank in the dinmed light, but just
above the edge the words Of John S:32
standing clear: 'sThe truth shall make
you free"
The natural elasticity of youth;
aided much in his case by temperament,
changed the color of the boys thoughts.
zone pen is bad as another, per-
haps, and it may not be for long. He
may have power to perform as we'll
as promise. Well, to make either eff
fective, here goes!" And, bending over.
the book, he caught the light paper on.
his tongue, crushing out of it, between
strong teeth, all semblance of mes
sage.
Next night saw him entered on the
roll of prisoners at Camp Morton, a fiat
square of some twenty acres, formerly,
used as cattle fair grounds. It was then
surrounded by a stockade twenty feet
high, pierced by one great gate at the,
north, near which lay headquarters and;
guardhouse. Outside this stockade ran;
platform, lower than it's top; and
about this paced unbrolen line of SEN
tinels, whose heads and shoulders only
showed above the fence. Within, a
huge moat, twenty feet wide and half
as deep, added security against at
tempted escape; while reflector lamps,
at intervals, gave sentries, themselves
in shadow, clear view of the snow-clad
inclosure.
Old cattle pens, long, low and dis
NAL, were the barracks for prisoners,
their upright plank sides so shrunken
by age and weather as to give far more
ventilation than was safe for life, with
temperature varying about zero. Four
tiers of rough shelves, scarce three feet
between, formed the hunks, in which
wretched men crouched by highland
most of the day as well-for warmth,
wedged in spoon fashion, and shiver-
ing under such blankets as each ''mess"
co,1id scrape together.
Two cold, dreary, endless seeming days
wore away. The sights and sounds about
Evan, aided by the long drawled tales Of
hopeless men crouched over scanty en-
bers, began to wear upon the boys
brave spirit. Already his eye had lostits
bright boldness, and heavy weight
pressed upon his heart, that the longest
watch upon lonely picket, the most
wearing lying still under fire, had never
limited to it.
When he looked upon the things about
,him-famished, bloodless, hopeless rem
nants of what had once been men like
himself-then upon that high stockade,
with eager-eyed sentinels pacing short
intervaled posts around it, Evans spirit
fell, and he grew sick with helplessnesA
He felt that the motto of the italian
might well be reared above that strong
and guarded gate: LasciGte ogns sperar,Sa,
pos CHI engote!"
Then, on the third morning, all was
stir and hustle betimes. Men were
ordered into ranks at reveille, sick or
well, many scarce able to stand, from
illness and starvation, some of them
cho oil