In a thick and
husky voice he cursed the 'stuff' vended at the post, extolled 'the
article' I carried, and demanded another pull at the flask. I looked at
him--saw that a little more would make him dead-drunk--and all at once
resolved on my plan.
"This was," continued Mr. Nighthawk, with modest simplicity, and
smiling as he spoke, "to make my friend, the officer of the day,
dead-drunk, and then borrow his uniform; and I succeeded. In half an
hour he was maudlin. In three-quarters of an hour, drunk. Five minutes
afterward he fell out of his chair, and began to snore, where he lay.
"I secured the door tightly, stripped off his uniform, then my own
clothing; put on his, and then replaced my own citizen's dress over
all, concealed his cap and boots beneath my overcoat, wrapped the
prostrate lieutenant in my blankets for fear he would take cold, and
going out, locked the door and proceeded to the quarters of the
prisoners. Again the sentinel took no notice of me. I found Colonel
Mohun in his 'bunk.' Ten minutes afterward he had replaced his gray
uniform with that of the Federal lieutenant, and, watching the moment
when the back of the sentinel was turned, we walked together toward the
gate of the pen.
"That was the moment of real danger. Outside the narrow gate another
sentinel was posted, and the man might be personally acquainted with
the officer of the day, or have noticed his appearance.
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