We were in the front end of a box car.

With a saw made on the back of a case-knife we cut a hole through the boards big enough to permit us to pass out, and perhaps escape.

We found that we were on the foremost box car of the train--the next vehicle to us being a passenger coach, in which were the Rebel officers.

On the rear platform of this car was seated one of their servants--a trusty old slave, well dressed, for a negro, and as respectful as his class usually was.

Said I to him: "Well, uncle, where are they taking us ?" He replied: "Well, sah, I couldn't rightly say." "But you could guess, if you tried, couldn't you ?" "Yes sah." He gave a quick look around to see if the door behind him was so securely shut that he could not be overheard by the Rebels inside the car, his dull, stolid face lighted up as a negro's always does in the excitement of doing something cunning, and he said in a loud whisper: "Dey's a-gwine to take you to Wilmington--ef dey kin get you dar!" "Can get us there!" said I in astonishment.