little finger. These were easily issued, but what shall be done with the bone which towered on the meat board above the diminutive strips of beef? No tools were available by which it could be broken up. One and another cried out, “I don’t want the bone for a ration.” “Count it out for me.” “I can’t gnaw a bone.” The writer knew that a wealth of nutriment was contained in the rich marrow and oil-filled joints, and in view of the unanimous rejection of the bone, said, “Well, boys, if none of you want it, I will take it as my portion.” “Agreed,” shouted the crowd, adding expressions like these, “Come, hurry up and call off that meat; I’m hungry.” The strips were speedily issued, and, for the most part, eaten at once.

The fortunate possessor of what was a large soup bone borrowed from a comrade a kitchen knife with permission to cut on the back of the same teeth, which were made with a file procured from a tent-mate. The steel of the blade was exceedingly hard and by the time the teeth were finished the file was worn nearly smooth. However, this fact insured that the teeth would hold their edge. The bone was quickly cut in two and the marrow dug out with a splinter. What remained was melted out with boiling water and a marrow soup was prepared for six hungry patriots. Next, the joints were sawed into slices and the rich oil extracted therefrom with hot water. Thus for two meals a generous addition was made to our impoverished menu.

Soon after, while splitting wood by driving the knife into the end of a stick, the blade was snapped off about one and one-half inches from the handle. This disaster brought consternation, for the owner valued his knife at five dollars. However, a settlement was effected by which the user retained the broken parts and the worn-out file. The blade was set into a split stick to be used as a saw, as circumstances might require.

The broken end of the shank was scraped on a brick to form a beveled edge like a chisel. Later on, the fact was demonstrated that these tools were a providential preparation. The face of the writer became diseased with the much prevailing scurvy. A swollen cheek, inflamed and bleeding gums with loosening teeth, indicated the fact that a hard fight for life must be put up. How shall it be done? About this time a stockade was built on three sides of an enclosure attached to the north end of the prison, thus making more room for the thousands of additional prisoners who were constantly arriving from many battle fields. The intervening wall was taken up and most of the timber sold to the prisoners. From one who had purchased a log, the writer obtained the wood sufficient to make three water pails; working on a two-thirds share.

This material was delivered to the writer in split strips about three inches thick and four feet long. With the knife-blade saw these sticks of hard pine were slowly and laboriously cut into lengths for staves which were split on a curve by driving together several sharp-pointed wedges into a circular grain of the wood. Thus each stave was an arc of the circumference of the tree. A day’s ration was traded for a board three inches wide and thirty inches long. A mortise was cut through this to receive the knife-chisel, which was held in place with a forked wedge after the manner of a carpenter’s plane.

This was the jointer on which the edges of the staves were smoothed and its upper end was placed on the knee of the writer, who sat tailor fashion on the ground, and the lower end was placed in a hole in the earth. The pieces for the bottom of the pail were split flat across the circular grain of the tree, and the edges were also smoothed on the jointer. For the want of truss hoops, the problem of setting up the staves seemed insurmountable. A sleepless night was passed in thinking the matter through. At four o’clock in the morning the inspiration came, and the solution was: Dig a hole in the ground the form and slope of the prospective pail. This was speedily done, and the staves were successfully set half their length in this mold, and the last one driven home brought the whole into shape. Two knapsack straps were passed around the top of the pail and held it together. It was then carefully drawn out of the hole and hoops made of split saplings were put in place, and the handle of like material was made. Precious food was bartered for these split stems, and the resultant fasting added to prevailing starvation nearly cost the writer his life.

Pieces for the bottom were jointed, placed on the ground and on them the pail was set. A pencil was run round on this bottom and the end of each piece was cut with saw and chisel wherever the curved mark indicated.

Days of incessant labor with chisel and a borrowed jackknife sufficed to produce from hard pitch pine the staves for the sides and bottom of a water pail of the ordinary size.

When at last the pail was completed so imperfect were the joints that meal could be sifted through. Derisive laughter greeted the apparent failure of a pail to hold water, through the joints of which the light freely shone. However, the maker depended on the dry wood of the staves swelling tight if only the hoops proved strong enough to stand the immense pressure. Happily, this resulted and in triumph the first made pail was handed over to the owner of the log in payment for the wood from which three pails could be made.

The second pail was more speedily made and sold for $1.50 with which the proprietor bought vegetables which eaten raw cured the scurvy in his face.

During the following winter which was passed in the Confederate prison at Florence, South Carolina, the shoes worn by the most of our group, owing to defective machine stitching, peeled from the toe to the heel, causing almost constantly damp feet, to the serious detriment of health.

Again the writer was obliged to make a fight for life. Recalling the process of making his chisel, he scraped, on a brick, the shank of his worn-out file into a point like a pegging awl. A gum tree knot served as a handle. A two-inch nut from a car bolt was screwed to a handle for a shoe hammer. A piece of soft pine was whittled into a last. With the knife-saw maple chips were cut into right lengths for shoe pegs which were shaped one by one. With this equipment the loosened soles were tightly pegged to the uppers. The shoes thus made water tight contributed no little to our chances of survival.

The writer afterwards mended shoes for one of the wood-chopping party who secured, of field negroes, sweet potatoes which he brought with the working squad into the prison at evening, and with them paid for the mending. These were cooked by the writer and retailed to the prisoners with large profit in U. S. fractional currency.

Confederate money was secretly purchased forty dollars for one, and with this supplies could be lawfully bought of the prison sutler. Bread per small loaf, flour per pound, and a fair-sized cabbage could be bought each for ten dollars. We drove a flourishing trade in hot cabbage soup with men who possessed any money; especially to those who, without shelter, literally piled themselves together for mutual warmth during the piercing cold and rain of a southern winter night.

The soup was made in the following manner: A cabbage consisted of a stalk with a tuft of leaves on the upper end and a bunch of roots on the lower end. The whole was washed clean and chopped up fine with the knife-chisel. The sliced leaves, stem and roots were boiled in eight quarts of water until made as tender as heat could do it. Into