was inexplicable, and we ceased operations to consider the matter.  The next day a man walking by a tent some little distance from the one in which the hole began, was badly startled by the ground giving way under his feet, and his sinking nearly to his waist in a hole.  It was very singular, but after wondering over the matter for some hours, there came a glimmer of suspicion that it might be, in some way, connected with the missing end of our tunnel.  One of us started through on an exploring expedition, and confirmed the suspicions by coming out where the man had broken through.  Our tunnel was shaped like a horse shoe, and the beginning and end were not fifteen feet apart.  After that we practised digging with our left hand, and made certain compensations for the tendency to the sinister side.

Another trouble connected with tunneling was the number of traitors and spies among us.  There were many—­principally among the N’Yaarker crowd who were always zealous to betray a tunnel, in order to curry favor with the Rebel officers.  Then, again, the Rebels had numbers of their own men in the pen at night, as spies.  It was hardly even necessary to dress these in our uniform, because a great many of our own men came into the prison in Rebel clothes, having been compelled to trade garments with their captors.

One day in May, quite an excitement was raised by the detection of one of these “tunnel traitors” in such a way as left no doubt of his guilt.  At first everybody was in favor of killing him, and they actually started to beat him to death.  This was arrested by a proposition to “have Captain Jack tattoo him,” and the suggestion was immediately acted upon.

“Captain Jack” was a sailor who had been with us in the Pemberton building at Richmond.  He was a very skilful tattoo artist, but, I am sure, could make the process nastier than any other that I ever saw attempt it.  He chewed tobacco enormously.  After pricking away for a few minutes at the design on the arm or some portion of the body, he would deluge it with a flood of tobacco spit, which, he claimed, acted as a kind of mordant.  Piping this off with a filthy rag, he would study the effect for an instant, and then go ahead with another series of prickings and tobacco juice drenchings.

The tunnel-traitor was taken to Captain Jack.  That worthy decided to brand him with a great “T,” the top part to extend across his forehead and the stem to run down his nose.  Captain Jack got his tattooing kit ready, and the fellow was thrown upon the ground and held there.  The Captain took his head between his legs, and began operations.  After an instant’s work with the needles, he opened his mouth, and filled the wretch’s face and eyes full of the disgusting saliva.  The crowd round about yelled with delight at this new process.  For an hour, that was doubtless an eternity to the rascal undergoing branding, Captain Jack continued his alternate pickings and drenchings.  At the end of that time the traitor’s face was disfigured with a hideous mark that he would bear to his grave.  We learned afterwards that he was not one of our men, but a Rebel spy.  This added much to our satisfaction with the manner of his treatment.  He disappeared shortly after the operation was finished, being, I suppose, taken outside.  I hardly think Captain Jack would be pleased to meet him again.