Karnasch was killed before Atlanta a subaltern, and his name may never again come before you. He was a quiet, hardworking Prussian of Breslau, who left his fatherland while yet a youth, an exile for political reasons. Better educated than the majority of Americans, especially those who wrought with their hands, he had, when I knew him, formed one of a colony from Chicago attempting to build a new city. Hopeful of the future and faithful in his daily duty, he turned his hand to what he might have to do with never-failing diligence. Now "making a claim" at a distance on the prairie, now clerk of the corporation, now building his own house and cultivating his plot of ground, now dispensing both law and equity as a justice of the peace, and now using his mechanical education in the manufacture of hand-presses and seals, he was always intelligent, modest, sincere. He loved the Republic for its own sake, and when the time came, he fought for it with single-hearted devotion. His private letters from the field glowed with intelligent enthusiasm for the service, with military fervor guided by patriotic conviction. Not yet thirty when he was killed in the discharge of his duty as an engineer on General Schofield's staff, the country and the service could better have spared a man of more years and greater rank than that devoted German lieutenant.

As we approached the scene of our exploit, a halt was called. Our leader administered a little advice, that was at once recognized as sensible and was agreed to. Briefly, everything was to be done quietly and with a single eye to the one object; there was to be no unnecessary talking and no firing without orders; the advance was to be slow until the word, and then a dash, halting in a semi-circle; the conference, if any, to be held by men delegated at the time. Above all, no violence was to be offered if no resistance was made, and especial care was to be taken not to shoot one another. What the thoughts of the others were can never be known, but one rider loosened his Colt with the decided hope that there might be no fighting. He thinks there was no special fear of be

ing hurt, but an intense repugnance toward seriously injuring others. But that was secondary to the object of the expedition. And if it were not, it was then too late to withdraw.

A quiet advance of half a mile, a sudden charge the first good gallop we had-and dashing into the group of houses called Monticello, we reined up in open order before the flagstaff. Surely enough, a flag was floating in the moonlight, but unrecognizable in detail from the ground. Everything was quiet. It required but a moment to bring out the occupant of the nearest house, whom the unusual tramping had already aroused. "What flag is that?" "The United States flag." By that time it was hauled down, and what it really was was a puzzle. It had three broad stripes, blue, white, and red, and a union of eleven stars. What was it? It was not the National flag. The man and his wife, who by this time also had appeared, protested that it was designed as such. It was not the Secession flag as we understood itnone of us had seen the Rebel colors then. Probabilities had to be balanced. The offender was the postmaster, and therefore, as an official, ought to be loyal and also to know what the United States flag looked like. There were no signs of armed defiance. We could prove nothing. Still, Johnson County, as well as some other places, held men who should be loyal and who were not. This one, to the knowledge of some present, had bad antecedents, and holding his office. over from the preceding administration, it might be construed as a reward for some piece of ruffianism. On the other hand, in view of the fearful ignorance then prevailing all over the country as to its actual construction, an ignorance that now seems incredible until memory is pressed for the facts as they were, the flag might actually have been meant for what it was claimed to be. But in point of fact it had a greater likenesss to the reports that came from the South. The stars corresponded in number with the States that had passed the ordinance of secession, and it floated in a suspicious atmosphere. Possibly it was designed as a compromise, for the

favor of both parties in that debatable land. The poor fellow was terribly frightened, perhaps with reason on the face of things, and appeared to see in our troop the reverse of the picture when he himself used to ride by night. His punishment was promptly determined and immediately inflicted. Our leader delivered him a lecture upon the construction of the Stars and Stripes and the wickedness and peril of blundering therein. He was cautioned that we should hear of no more such bunting, and was directed to fly a genuine flag without delay. Our justice of the peace then administered the oath of allegiance, which was just becoming the panacea for all political ailments, to the man and his wife, and we dismissed them. At first no one appeared but those we demanded, but as it became evident that no outrage was contemplated, quite a knot of villagers gathered before our departure. Bearing with us our trophy, we rode off in triumph, with, it must be confessed, a little regret that after our considerable effort we had not captured something having a more unequivocal mark of the devil. Our homeward ride had little incident. We deviated somewhat from our exact route to escort our De Soto comrades, in whose village we found watchers awaiting the tidings, and where we indulged in remarks of mutual admiration and compliment. So, like other campaigns, the object of the expedition was satisfactorily accomplished, and, unlike some, without bloodshed, intoxication, or disorder. By dawn we had regained our homes and were ready for our daily occupations.

What I Saw and Did Inside and Outside of

Rebel Prisons.

By Companion O. R. McNary, First Lieutenant 103d Pennsylvania

Volunteers.

December 3, 1900.

Some time ago I received a communication from our worthy recorder, requesting me to read a paper, and suggesting that I relate some of my experiences as a prisoner of war. Long ago I learned to obey my superiors; but what shall I write? If of prison life, of what part of it? The treatment of prisoners by the Rebels during the war is an old story; you have doubtless all read it; it is an important part of the history of the late war, and the blackest page in the book. Being a very modest young man, I have heretofore declined to recite my personal experience in public. It. is too much like blowing my own horn. But someone has said: "He that bloweth not his own horn, verily, his horn shall not be blown." And as I happen to have the horn, I will tell you part of what I saw and did inside and outside of rebel prisons.

In April, 1864, I was a staff officer, and acting superintendent of negro affairs at Plymouth, North Carolina, and with Major Marvin (now a citizen of Lawrence, Kansas) was recruiting negro troops. Plymouth was the advance post of the extreme left wing of the Army of the James, commanded by General H. W. Wessells.

Early in April our scouts informed us that a strong force was coming down to drive us out, or-take us in. On the 17th of April we were attacked by a rebel force of over 10,000 men, under command of General Hoke and General Ransom.

On the third day of the siege, a citizen, Mr. Johnston, who lived near our picket line, came to me with the interesting information, that the rebel provost-marshal had offered a reward of $10,000 each for Major Marvin and myself, dead or alive, and that our negroes would be shot at sight. I immediately sent him to notify Major Marvin, and I informed General Wessells.

We had read a copy of the joint resolution of the rebel Congress, approved May 1, 1863, Section 4 of which read as