CHAPTER XVIII.
THE RICHMOND CAPTIVES.
How close, and dirty, and terrible it was on that third floor of the dingy tobacco house, where Isaac, as a private, was first confined, and as the summer days glided by and the August sun came pouring into the great, disorderly room, how the young boy panted and pined for a breath of sweet, pure air, such as swept over the far-off Eastern hills, and how full of wistful yearning were the glances he cast toward the grated windows, seeking to catch glimpses of the busy world without, in which he could not mingle. Not very near those windows did he dare approach, for more than one had already paid the penalty of such transgression, and in his dreams, Isaac saw yet the white death agony which stole over the face of the Fire Zouave shot by the inhuman gua
