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 At Aiken's Landing we were transferred to our Confederate steamer. ‘Once again under our own flag,’ I wrote on the Confederate steamer and sent it back by the Federal steamer to my home city to gladden the hearts of my friends there. We landed at Rocketts, Richmond. As we proceeded up on our way to General Headquarters, and had gone but a short distance, we saw a boy selling some small apples. We inquired the price. ‘One dollar apiece,’ was the answer. It was a blow—a staggering blow—to thus learn of the utter depreciation of the Confederate currency. I may just as well say here that all the prisoners at Johnson's Island stoutly maintained their confidence in the ultimate success of our cause. They never lost hope or faith. They never realized at all the despondency at home. The little boy with his apples told me that it was not so in Richmond. I at once seemed to feel the prevailing despondency in the very air, and as we made our way up the street I felt and realized that there was a pall hanging over the city. When I reached General Headquarters I found out that we were not exchanged, that we were prisoners still, paroled prisoners. I was given a furlough. Here it is before me now:
The next day I went to the ‘Pay Bureau Q. M. Department.’ I was paid $600 in Confederate notes. I have before me the certificate that was given me.
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