I had come into prison, as did most other prisoners, absolutely destitute of dishes, or cooking utensils.

The well-used, half-canteen frying-pan, the blackened quart cup, and the spoon, which formed the usual kitchen outfit of the cavalryman in the field, were in the haversack on my saddle, and were lost to me when I separated from my horse.

Now, when we were told that we were to draw soup, I was in great danger of losing my ration from having no vessel in which to receive it.
There were but few tin cups in the prison, and these were, of course, wanted by their owners.

By great good fortune I found an empty fruit can, holding about a quart.

I was also lucky enough to find a piece from which to make a bail.