THE IMMORTAL SIX HUNDRED
glad by a lot of boxes of tobacco, sweet potatoes, and peanuts our government had sent us under flag of truce. This renewed our strength, and we were all grateful. It was all our government had to send, and it told us the story of want at home, but gave us the cheering, silent news that we were not forgotten by our government and people in our trials and tribulations. For several days we just revelled in good old Rebel sweet potatoes and peanuts, and blew off our misfortunes in the smoke of good old Dixie tobacco. Our cares for the time vanished, and we slept like princes after a banquet. In the early morning the shelling of the island awoke us, the same old monotony settled upon the camp, the negro sentinels surrounded our camp, and the daily roll calls of the Yanks kept us from forgetting we were still prisoners of war on Morris Island, under fire of our own guns, suffering all the torments of retaliation, as unjust as it was cowardly and cruel.
After several days we were again or-
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