742 Nortu Carotina Troops, 1861-’65.

oner, he was put with us into close confinement. He was a
real acquisition, for he came in provided with many things
by friends, and was generous, dividing liberally with us all
he had and everything that was sent to him from Baltimore
by his friends.

We were kept in close confinement for several months.
The Colonel commanding offered to put us with the other
prisoners if we would give our parole not to attempt to es-
cape; but this we declined to do. We had formed our plans
to get out of this room; but before we could make any begin-
ning, we were put back with the other naval officers in. our
old original casemates.

Never losing hope, we began to look around at once to see
how we could get out of the casemates. There were two
chimneys in our room, and both were stack chimneys—that
is to say, there were two flues in the chimney, one for the fire-
place in our casemate, and one for the fireplace of the ad-
joining one.

We determined to move the partition in one of these chim-
neys and get out at the top. This would be a work of months,
but we commenced at once. The fireplaces were closed and
only a hole for a stovepipe remained. We took down enough
of these bricks to let one man get into the fireplace, and he
commenced removing the partition between the fireplaces, or
rather enlarging the flue so we could pass up. The bricks re-
moved from the inside of the chimney were beaten into dust
and carried out in the slops every morning. After working
nearly all night, taking turns and being helped by another
prisoner, Morrell, an engineer on the Atlanta, we would put
back the bricks we had taken down, using bread made into
dough for mortar, and whitewashing the brick over every
night before we went to bed. This work went on for severa.
months; but when we could see that our work was getting to
a point where we could begin to see the end, we ascertained
that a sentinel was posted at the top of the chimney and that
all our work was thrown away. It was a bitter disappoint-
ment to us; but we did not have to bear it for a very long
time, for in September, I think it was, we were ordered to
get ready to go to City Point for exchange. While in the

An Escapr From Fort WARREN. 743

fort I had a beautiful little English terrier named Fanny,
which had belonged to one of the sons of Captain S. S. Lee,
and was turned over to me when Lee: was ordered abroad.
This little dog gained the affections of one of the Sergeants
attached to the Commissary Department in Fort Warren, and
he used to bring fresh beef every day it was issued to the
garrison as a present to the dog. Of course we took charge
of the meat and the little dog was given the bones, and this
meat was a great addition to our larder. This little dog was
with me until the close of the war, and was carried to my
home in Lincolnton, North Carolina, where she lived to a
good old age, and raised many sons and daughters.

The exchange was a special one, arranged between the
Navy Departments of the two governments. We were sent
in a steamer to City Point, on James river, where General
Grant had his headquarters on a large river steamboat. We
remained here some time, and we learned that the reason was
that the Confederates refused to treat with General Butler,
the Federal agent for the exchange of prisoners. The Con-
federates had outlawed General Butler on account of his con-
duct in New Orleans, and refused to hold any communication
with him. Then Captain Webb, the senior captain present,
asked for and obtained an interview with General Grant, who
listened to what he had to say, said nothing himself, but on
the following day we were sent up the river, and meeting the
Confederate flag of truce about nine miles below Richmond,
we were put on board that vessel and the Federal naval pris-
oners sent down to be exchanged for us took our places in
the one we left. After a short time the two vessels separated
and our boat steamed up the river. We had not gone very
far before we saw a Confederate picket standing among some
bushes near the bank of the river, and we knew we were once
more inside the Confederate lines after having been prison-
ers for seventeen months. I think that was the happiest day
of my life.

J. W. ALEXANDER.

Lincotnton, N. C.,
26 April, 1883.