midsummer, or in a Northern prison in the dead of winter, in time of
active hostilities outside, can fully realize the heart-longings of a
soldier prisoner to find release from his sufferings in confinement,
and to be again at his post of duty at the front, or can understand
how gladly such a man would find a way, consistent with the right, to
escape, at any involved risk. But all can believe that plans of escape
were in frequent discussion among the restless Federal prisoners in
Columbia, of whom I was one.

A plan proposed to me by a fellow-officer seemed to offer peculiar
chances of success, and I gladly joined in it. But as its fuller
details were considered, I found that a probable contingency would
involve the telling of a lie to an enemy, or a failure of the
whole plan. At this my moral sense recoiled; and I expressed my
unwillingness to tell a lie, even to regain my personal liberty or
to advantage my government by a return to its army. This opened an
earnest discussion of the question whether there is such a thing as a
"lie of necessity," or a justifiable lie. My friend was a pure-minded
man of principle, ready to die for his convictions; and he looked at
this question with a sincere desire to know the right, and to conform
to it. He argued that a condition of war suspended ordinary social
relations between the combatants, and that the obligation of
truth-speaking was one of the duties thus suspended. I, on the other
hand, felt that a lie was necessarily a sin against God, and therefore
was never justifiable.

My friend asked me whether I would hesitate to kill an enemy who was
on guard over me, or whom I met outside, if it were essential to our
escape. I replied that I would not hesitate to do so, any more than I
would hesitate at it if we were over against each other in battle.