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Some biscuit were brought to him, the bucket refilled with spring-water, the door closed, and barred, and he was left for the night. Weakness from loss of blood made him drowsy, and forgetting his miserable situation, he slept soundly until next morning, when he woke feeling more like himself than he could have believed possible. His wound felt easy and he was glad to find he could move without much pain. The doctor looked in, nodded approval of his condition, and said he would send him breakfast, after partaking of which Morton turned his attention to his personal appearance, and with the aid of water, which the sentry got him as wanted, improved it somewhat. The day passed without incident, no one interrupting the monotony of his imprisonment. From the sound of wagon-wheels and the hurrying of messengers to and from the tavern, he surmised the army was preparing to move, and that in the bustle he was forgotten. The following morning his vigor had returned to such a degree that he fell to examining his prison-house and so far as he could, by peeping through crevices in its walls of logs, his surroundings, with a view to endeavoring to escape. He had finished breakfast, when an officer appeared, who introduced himself as Captain Thomas of the staff and announced that the General wished to see him. By leaning rather heavily on the American, who proved to be a gentlemanly fellow, Morton managed to hobble the short distance to Smith’s tavern, and was led directly to the General’s room. On entering, Morton saw a fine-looking old gentleman of dignified bearing, whom he recognized as the one he saw inspecting the troops on the evening of the surprise. He sat in a rocking-chair and before him stood a rough-looking farmer, with whom he was speaking. Waving Morton to take a seat, he went on with his conversation.