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   impatient for the word to move. We were going home to Dixie, and I do believe each man had in his heart a resolve that he would never forget Fort Delaware and its cruelty. We, whose names had been called for exchange, were in a state of anxiety all day, awaiting the order to forward. The sun went down and our hope went with it. No order to move had come; we were still prisoners of war in terrible Fort Delaware prison. Speculation was rife. "Grape" after "grape," story after story came to us, running riot with our disappointment. Each story was given credence until finally, in the chaos, we came to the conclusion that exchange was but a dream, and the Yankees had perpetrated a cruel joke upon us and no exchange was to be made. Despair drove hope from our hearts and sleep from our eyes, and suspense held us in her ruthless grasp until the morning of August 20th, when the sergeant who called the prison roll came in to perform his duty and announced the order that the men whose