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   skinned the animal for me, and dressed it for the pan. In an old tin can I made soup of part of the cat for Funk, and, after threats and coaxing, I prevailed upon him to drink some of the soup. The effect upon him was magical. It revived him in spirits and for a time counteracted the effects of the scurvy. As long as I could get him rat and cat meat he showed signs of improvement; but the cats gave out, and the rats I could not catch. I had not the wealth to purchase them from the fellows who could, so poor Billy Funk relapsed back into his former condition. He never rallied, and died, shortly after our return to Fort Delaware prison, in the arms of his mother who was allowed to see him an hour or two before his death. Poor, dear Billy Funk! Methinks I can see your sad face now, and hear your gentle voice in prayer to God for relief denied you by your fellow man. Lieutenant Funk's remains now rest in Mount Hebron Cemetery—hallowed grounds—in Winchester, Va.,