"
"You would not have been, if one of our own men hadn't split on you."
"What!" exclaimed Frank, "you don't pretend to say that a Federal
soldier was mean enough to inform against me?"
"Yes, I do; and there he stands now." And, as Cabot spoke, he pointed
to a tall, hard-featured man standing by the window, looking out
into the street. "I slept at the head of the stairs last night, and
distinctly heard him tell the guards that you were intending to leave.
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.
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