His name is Bishop, and he belongs to the Thirtieth Maine Regiment. He
has for some time past been trying to be allowed to take the oath of
allegiance to the South." [Footnote: A fact.]

"What will he do then?" inquired Frank; "go into the rebel army?"

"No, but he could be employed here in the arsenal, making bullets to
kill our own men with."

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Frank, indignantly; "I didn't suppose there
was a man from my own State who could be guilty of such meanness."

"He is mean enough for any thing. Haven't you noticed that every night
he comes around through our quarters with a candle?"

"Yes; but I don't know what he does it for."

"Well, he counts us every night before he goes to sleep, and, in fact,
comes through our room two or three times in the night, to see that
none of us have escaped. He hopes in that manner to gain favor with
the rebels. I have told you this, in order that you may look out for
him the next time you try to escape."

Frank was astounded at this intelligence, and, at first, he did not
believe it. But that evening, about nine o'clock, Bishop came in, as
usual, with his candle, and Frank inquired:

"What made you tell the guard that I was going to escape last night?"

The question was asked so suddenly--and in a manner which showed