the remnants of the funds of the Confederate States, in specie, that had been hauled by wagons through from Richmond, was distributed among the troops at that time. I remember the men of our brigade got $26.00 a piece. Most of it was in Mexican dollars, silver money. I brought it home with me. Fortunately, I had enough to get home on without using that money, and, after our marriage, my wife and I thought it would be a good idea to have that silver made into spoons. We took it down to Duhme & Company, at Cincinnati, and enjoined upon them to use that silver, and no other, in a set of tablespoons, and those spoons are on our table today.

No man can fully or correctly appreciate the value of personal liberty who has never been a prisoner. At least three-fourths of Morgan’s men felt what it was to endure the fearful life of a Northern military prison, and many of them were humiliated by incarceration in the loathsome dungeons and cells of penitentiaries while prisoners of war. Fortunately for me, I escaped from Camp Douglas in time to avoid the starvation policy subsequently inaugurated there, which was said to have been enforced by way of retaliation for the treatment Federal prisoners received at Andersonville, Ga. The difference between the two was that at Andersonville the Confederates did not have the food to give the prisoners, while in the North, the Federal authorities had plenty, and refused to supply it to Confederate prisoners in sufficient quantities. Of the seven members of our mess Clay and I left in Camp Douglas, three died there, one took the oath, and the other three, after twenty-one months of horrid prison life, were exchanged a few weeks before the close of the war. Only one of these three is now alive. He is living in Montgomery County, near Mount Sterling. Of the three who died there, one was James Richard Allen, who, in the presidential campaign of 1860 by the “Hoosier Boys” referred to, was the representative of Douglas; and afterward, in 1862, came South, and joined the Confederate Army as I had done. He had been captured somewhere in Virginia, as I now recall.

DARING SPIRIT OF MORGAN’S MEN.

The same restless, daring spirit that actuated Morgan’s men in the field characterized them in prison, and out of eighteen hundred prisoners taken on the Indiana and Ohio raid not less than six hundred of them escaped from Camps Morton and Douglas. I have heard that one of the Chicago newspapers stated during the war that even if Morgan’s men had done nothing to distinguish them before their capture on the raid through Indiana and Ohio, they had immortalized themselves by their wonderfully successful escapes from prison.

The extraordinary escape of Gen. Morgan himself, together with Capts. Hines, Sheldon, Taylor, Hockersmith, Bennett and McGee, from the Ohio State Prison, stands without a parallel in military history. You cannot imagine my surprise after getting on the cars at Paris en route to Canada, on the occasion already referred to, in December, 1863, when I picked up a Cincinnati Daily Gazette, some passenger had left on the seat, and read the graphic account of this unexpected escape of our General and six of his Captains the night before. My heart leaped with joy at the news, but I dared not give expression to my delight by the utterance of a word.

INCIDENT ON FERRY BOAT AT COVINGTON.

Getting on the ferry boat at Covington on the Kentucky side, on my trip to Canada, just as it was landing coming over from the Cincinnati side, I saw ten or fifteen steps ahead of me my uncle, Higgins Lane, and my aunt, his wife, from Indiana. He was my mother’s brother, whom I dearly loved, but knew to be an intense Union man. And uncle as he was, I was afraid that he would expose me and have me arrested. I immediately dodged around the boat and did not see him any more. I learned afterward that I had misjudged him, and done him an injustice. He announced that he would not have thought of such a thing as having me arrested. At my home at Owingsville, in Bath County, after the war, my wife and I had the pleasure of entertaining him and my aunt as hospitably as was in our power.

INCIDENT AT THE ISLAND HOUSE IN TOLEDO.

I may further relate, on that trip to Canada, I stopped at the Island House in Toledo. I thought I would go into Detroit in daylight, and see where I was going when I got there, and crossed the river into Canada. I registered at the hotel mentioned as usual, and went up to supper on the next floor. After I finished and was walking out of the dining room, a fellow stepped up behind me and said: “I guess we will settle right here.” Well, one has to think pretty fast under those circumstances. He impressed me as a detective, who thought he had found his man. I said, “Settle for what?” He responded, “Settle for your supper.” I was greatly relieved. I said, “Why, my dear sir, I have registered here at this hotel and expect to stay all night.” He said, “Well, that is different. Then I will go down and see the register.” I was in the habit of registering at hotels under almost any sort of name that occurred to me at the time. I never registered under my own name, and I had to look at the register to see what it was. I knew I could tell my handwriting. When I got up to the register and saw what it was, I said, “There it is.” Said he, “That’s all right.”

COL. GEORGE ST. LEGER GRENFELL.

Most of the survivors of Gen. Morgan’s command remember that brave and gallant soldier, Col. George St. Leger Grenfell, who came to us and was on Gen. Morgan’s staff, after long and faithful service in the British army. He did me a kindness during the war, which I have remembered with gratitude ever since. By an accident my horse’s back had become so sore he could not be ridden, and in the fall of 1862, while leading him and wearily walking in the column over a mountain road in East Tennessee, Col. Grenfell came riding by, accompanied by a subordinate, who had in charge a led horse. Observing my plight, he stopped, and asked me the cause; and when told, requested me to mount his led horse, and when mine got well to return his to him, which offer I gladly accepted.

Afterward, Col. Grenfell, for alleged complicity in the plot to release the Confederate prisoners from Camp Douglas, was arrested by the Federal authorities and sentenced to imprisonment at Fort Jefferson, Tortugas Island. In April, 1867, my brother, Maj. Valentine H. Stone, of the 5th United States Regular Artillery, who had been stationed at Fortress Monroe for eighteen months, was assigned to take command at Fort Jefferson. He was two years older than I, and he was the brother who, as one of the “Hoosier Boys,” advocated the cause of Bell and Everett in 1860. He afterward went into the Army, the 5th Regular U. S. Artillery. I will have more to say of him directly. On learning where he had been assigned, I wrote to him, giving an account of Col. Grenfell’s kindness to me on the occasion referred to, and requesting him to do all in his power, consistent with his duty, to alleviate the prison life of my old army friend, who was, as a true soldier and gentleman, worthy of such consideration. With this request there was a faithful compliance on the part of my brother, which Col. Grenfell gratefully appreciated. I was permitted to correspond with Col. Grenfell, and several letters passed between us.

In September, 1867, yellow fever broke out at Fort Jefferson. Col. Grenfell, having had large experience with this dreadful disease, faithfully nursed all who were stricken down among the garrison as well as other prisoners. My