Part 4

_Wednesday, Feb. 18._--_At Home._--Mrs. Fullerton called this morning. She said she had been to the prison and had carried a few things, including my wife’s picture. The officer who received them said he would give them to me. She then handed him a note from my mother, stating that my wife was recovering from her illness and was able to go about the house. When requested to hand me this the officer said: “There can be no communication, unless it goes through the Provost-Marshal’s office.” So I had been denied this slight gratification, of knowing that my wife, whom I left suffering from an attack of typhus fever, was improving in health. This afternoon I went to prison and reported myself to Captain Higgins. I told him my child was very ill; that the disease was just at its height and his recovery doubtful. That under the circumstances I would like to have my parole extended for a short time, until I saw how the disease would likely terminate. He told me he would see Captain Parker. After hearing my request, Parker asked if I could get a certificate to the effect that my child was dangerously ill. Told him I could. He said: “If you will bring me such certificate from the attending physician, I will grant you a parole until Friday, at 5 P.M.” He added, “As you are living in this city and refuse to take the oath, it proves that your sympathy is with the South.” After leaving the prison I went to the office of Dr. Toner and procured the required certificate.

_Thursday, Feb. 19._--This morning went to headquarters of Military Governor, and gave the certificate to Captain Parker, according to agreement.

From a conversation which I overheard while standing on the steps at the Provost-Marshal’s office, one can get a faint idea of the state of society now existing under the infamous spy system. A sergeant and corporal were standing near the doorway, conversing with a citizen:

Sergeant--You know he is a Secessionist?

Citizen--Yes.

Sergeant--Then go in and report him.

Citizen (smiling and shrugging his shoulders)--I don’t like--

Corporal--You have gone too far now; you must go in and report him.

Sergeant--Your name won’t appear at all in this.

The citizen still appeared to hesitate, but the two were still urging him when I passed on.

Fostered by partisan hatred or private malice, a system of espionage has been established which is felt on every side. Servants and employees are tampered with, witnesses are bought or threatened. Actions or expressions, in themselves perfectly innocent, are perverted and by misconstruction made to assume an air of treason or disloyalty. In this way persons are often arrested and imprisoned for months without trial or without even knowing the nature of the charge against them or the name of their accuser.

_Friday, Feb. 20._--Henry passed a very uneasy night. The doctor says he is not so well this morning as yesterday; still, he says he has hopes of saving him. I hope for the best, yet fear the worst. This afternoon, between four and five o’clock, reported myself at the Old Capitol. After having my valise searched, I retired to my room, where I found a number of prisoners in addition to those I left when I went out on parole.

Captain Phillips was released from guard house this afternoon. A few days ago he asked Wood to give him a parole. Wood refused, and said no paroles would be granted. Phillips said a man who was confined under similar circumstances to himself had been given a parole on the day his vessel was to be sold. Soon after this interview I saw Phillips and Wood running around the yard, both much excited. Phillips said, “Come on; I will show you the man.” Wood said, “Go on; I’ll prove either you or him to be a liar.” When Phillips found the man, Wood was not to be found.

A day or two after this, Phillips was going into the office to pay the clerk, Mr. Drew, for a pair of spectacles, when Wood, who was in the office at the time, called out to him in a rough manner, and Phillips went out and closed the door. When he got to his room a guard came up and took him to the guard house, from which he was only released to-day. Wood said he had not intended to keep him there so long, but had forgotten him.

How faithfully does history repeat itself. How many unfortunates have been arrested, thrown into prison, and their accusers having accomplished their object in placing them in durance, cared no more about them, and their jailers were totally indifferent in the matter. Wood said the principal cause for his punishment was the indifference with which Phillips appeared to treat him.

_Sunday, Feb. 22._--I was told there are over five hundred prisoners here now. When those in our room were counted last night there were found to be thirty-four. A number of _fresh fish_ have been brought in since my return.

Sixty-two prisoners were brought here from Camp Chase. Some have been imprisoned for fifteen months. About twenty of them have no charge against them except refusal to take the oath.

Goldsmith said that while he was in the guard house a Union soldier was put in who was drunk and noisy, and the lieutenant came in, slapped him in the face and kicked him several times.

One of my fellow-prisoners is an old gentleman from Virginia, named John B. Hunter. He is over sixty years of age. He is detained without any charge whatever, but as a hostage for a man named Stiles, who has made himself notorious as a spy and detective, and by acting as guide in piloting raiding parties through Virginia. Mr. Hunter was called down last night by Captain Parker, who told him information had been received that Stiles had been released, and that he, too, would be released. That he could leave the prison then or wait until to-day. He has been in prison forty-two days altogether, and his health is now very poor.

Another of my room-mates is John Carr, of Fauquier County, Va.; he is a widower, who was about to be married. As he was journeying on to the home of his intended bride, where all the preparations had been made for the approaching nuptials, he was rudely seized by a scouting party and landed here in the Old Capitol. He has been unfortunate in his matrimonial ventures. He was married to his second wife a few years before the war, and started on a bridal tour through some of the Western States. It happened that the cholera was raging at the time in some parts of the West, and while going down the Mississippi River on a steamboat his wife was suddenly taken ill with cholera and died on the boat. The passengers became frightened and put him ashore with the dead body of his wife at a desolate spot on the banks of the river, at night and in a heavy storm. He was compelled to remain there through the long, dreary night, sitting beside the corpse, holding a blanket over it to protect it from the rain, and keep the wind from blowing away the covering. The splash of the water, the puffing and snorting of the boats on the river, with the shrill blast of their whistles or the bellowing of their signals in passing each other, found an echo in the moaning and shrieking of the angry wind. These mingled sounds to the sad watcher in his lonely vigil seemed a requiem for the dead.

_Tuesday, Feb. 24._--Three of the prisoners brought in last Saturday were Italians--Peter Eorio, Raphael Rinaldi and Marco Comastri. They appear to be very intelligent men, and I have derived much pleasure from conversing with them. They have been in this country about three years. Living in the South, and wishing to return to their native country, they asked and received permission from the Confederate authorities to pass through the lines; having first procured certificates to the effect that they were citizens of Italy and as to their intentions. On their arrival in Washington they were arrested and brought to this place.

To-day the Commission appointed to try political prisoners commenced their sittings.

Fourteen prisoners were sent off to-day upon taking the oath. Quite a number have been released lately by so doing. Many of them say they do not regard the oath--that it is unconstitutional, unlawful, and not in any sense binding.[F]

_Wednesday, Feb. 25._--This morning one of the negroes in the breakfast room accused a prisoner of taking two pieces of bread instead of one, which is supposed to be one man’s portion. Although the man denied having done so, the negro persisted in saying he had, and the man was put in the guard house.

Peter and John Flaherty were called before Parker. They are British subjects and are provided with British protection. They had been at work for some time in Richmond, and were on their way North when arrested. Parker asked them why they left Richmond. “Thinking to do better, sir,” promptly replied Peter. They were released with the injunction to leave the city within forty-eight hours.

_Thursday, Feb. 26._--Three more prisoners brought into our room--twenty-nine now in all. Some Yankee sutlers were brought in lately. They are very bitter in denouncing the Federal Government.

It is rumored an attempt will be made by some of the prisoners to escape. The matter was talked over to-day in our room. Many plans were suggested as being feasible and attended with but little danger. One said it would be an easy matter, when we were out in the yard, and the wagon came in to deliver bread, for the prisoners to make a rush for the gate, and before the gate could be closed quite a number could get out.

“But the guards would fire on us, and some of us would be killed,” said Fax Minor.

“Of course,” was the reply, “somebody might be shot--perhaps killed. We must expect that. But many would get away safely.”

“Yes, that is all true,” returned Fax; “but just suppose there was only one killed, and that one was poor Fax--what then?”

A noticeable character in the prison yard at one time during the half-hour allowed for recreation was a Hebrew named Fleggenheimer. He was captured while attempting to run the blockade on the Potomac, and his goods confiscated. Like Rachel of old, he would not be comforted, but was continually bewailing his loss. One of my room-mates, John Pentz, of Baltimore, finding that sympathy only added fuel to the fire of his distress, sought to divert his thoughts into another channel by bantering him.

“Oh, Sledgehammer” (as Pentz was accustomed to call him), “don’t worry; you’ll soon be out of this place, and it won’t take you long to make up what you lost.”

“Ah, but, Mr. Benty, I lose more ash five t’ousand dollars.”

“Well, you can get that back in the profit of one good trip.”

“And den it vash all borrowed monish.”

“Then that is so much the better--_you_ won’t lose anything.”

“Oh, you don’t know all, Mr. Benty. My poor wife, she yust git a leetle baby, unt ven she hear dis it makes her right down stone dead.”

From conversations had with Western prisoners, I judge there is more intense bitterness of feeling in the West, particularly in Missouri and Kentucky, than in the Eastern border section. One old Missourian in our room said he was from Schuyler County, and had been in prison since the 12th of August. That one of the prisoners in the Court House, named Ford, was shot with a pistol by one of the guards.

He said the Union men were called “Sheepskins,” and they perpetrated the most villainous outrages. That on one occasion a party arrested a man, and while carrying him through the village, some little boys playing marbles, cried out: “Here comes the militia,” and ran away. One of the “Sheepskins” fired into the crowd of children and killed a boy twelve years old. They picked the child up, carried him to his home, and threw him in the door to his mother, saying: “Here is one we’ve kept from growing up to be a damned Secesh.”

Another man told me he was in prison with some of the men who were executed by General McNeil. He said he was playing cards with Wade when he was called out. Wade put down his cards, saying he knew he was called out to be killed. There was among the doomed men one old man with a large and helpless family. A brave young hero volunteered to take the old man’s place, saying he had none to leave behind to regret him or feel the loss. He was accepted. His savage executioners, dumb to this noble exhibition of heroism and self-sacrifice, sent him off on his coffin with the others.

I afterward learned the facts concerning this brutal tragedy:

In the Fall of 1862, the Confederates, under Colonel James Porter, captured the town of Palmyra, and during their occupancy a man named Andrew Allsman, an ex-soldier of the Third Missouri Cavalry (said to have been a spy), disappeared.

After the Confederates evacuated the town and McNeil returned, he learned of the abduction of Allsman, and thereupon issued a notice, that unless Allsman was returned within ten days he would retaliate upon the Rebel prisoners then in his hands. At the expiration of the ten days, ten prisoners then in his custody: Willis Baker, Thomas Humston, Morgan Bixler, and John Y. McPheeters, of Lewis County; Herbert Hutson, John M. Wade and Marion Lair, of Ralls County; Captain Thomas A. Sidner, Monroe County; Eleazer Lake, Scotland County, and Hiram Smith, Knox County, were selected--ten men, to give up their lives for one man _missing_.

Three Government wagons drove to the jail, with ten rough board coffins. The condemned men were taken from the prison, seated upon their coffins in the wagons, and driven to the place of execution--the Fair Ground. There the coffins were arranged in a row, six or eight feet apart. Thirty soldiers of the Second Missouri State Militia were drawn up in line facing the coffins. The ten men knelt upon the grass between the coffins. A prayer was offered up by Rev. R. M. Rhoades, and the prisoners each took his seat upon the foot of his coffin. Two accepted bandages; the others refused. The officer in command then stepped forward and gave the command: “Ready--aim--fire!” Two of the prisoners fell backward upon their coffins, dead. Captain Sidner sprang forward and fell with his face to the soldiers, and died immediately. He had requested the soldiers to aim at his heart. The other seven were not killed, and the reserves were called and put an end to their lives with their revolvers.

Among the Camp Chase prisoners are three little boys, their ages ranging from ten to fourteen. I saw one in the yard to-day. The men called him “John Morgan’s Orderly.” He was dressed in gray and seemed a shrewd, bright little fellow. He told me he was fourteen years of age. That he had been with John Morgan, and was captured while carrying a letter from General John C. Breckenridge to General John Morgan. He said he had been in prison thirteen months.

The second boy was held on charges similar to the one first mentioned. The third, and youngest, says he does not know why he was arrested, or why he was brought here.

_Friday, Feb. 27._--Boyd Barrett and others, ill with smallpox, were removed in ambulances to-day.

Messrs. Ayre, Carr, and Brawner were called to-day and the oath offered them. They refused to take it and were marked for exchange.

It is said one of the prison officials was going around the yard last night, dressed in Confederate uniform, endeavoring, by offering bribes, to test the fidelity of the guards.

_Saturday, Feb. 28._--I slept but little last night. Some prisoners who were put in the room were very noisy, and I was cold. I had one sheet and one blanket, and I had to take my overcoat for a covering. When I got warmed up, the mice became lively and commenced a game of tag. They appear to think it fine fun chasing one another under the board pillow at my head, and then running over my bunk and crawling about through the folds of my blanket. When I shake them off they scamper away, only to return when they see I am quiet again.

There is also a large force of bedbugs in the room, and they send out detachments and raiding parties to all the different bunks, and draw their full supply of rations from the occupants. Sometimes we get together and have a round-up, and a promiscuous slaughter, regardless of age or sex. But they must recruit from the other side, like the Yankee army, as we can notice no diminution in the forces. I suppose, like the poor, we will always have them with us.

Owing to the dirty and overcrowded condition of the building, we have another pest in the shape of an insect, smaller than the one just mentioned, but equally bloodthirsty, who makes his presence felt, and has reduced us to such a condition that we have to scratch for a living.

This morning, while standing near the window, I saw two little boys, ten or twelve years of age, standing on the street corner, opposite the prison. They were looking down the street and did not hear the guard calling to them to leave the corner. Presently a corporal was sent over and the children, now in the act of moving on, were arrested and brought into the prison. I stood at the window for some time, but I did not see them pass out.

Six prisoners brought into our room to-day. Thirty-seven now in the room, with bunks for twenty-one; the balance sleep on the floor as best they can. At night the floor is completely taken up by sleeping men, so we can only walk the floor by stepping over them. They roll themselves in their blankets and go to sleep.

Frank Thornton released on parole to-day. John Pentz went out at night.

A man in Room 15 threw a piece of bread out of the window into the street. In consequence of this, all the inmates of the room, twenty-eight in number, were confined to the room during the half-hour usually allowed for recreation, and put on bread and water diet--two pieces of bread being allowed them daily.

_Monday, March 2._--Commission in session to-day.

The surgeon came in and made inquiries as to the number in our room, etc. Thirty-nine in room--beds for twenty-one. Call for all who desire to be vaccinated to come into the hospital.

In the dull uniformity of prison life every trifling event which breaks the monotony and diverts the attention, for the time, from the unpleasant reality of our situation is seized upon and becomes a subject of conversation. To-day a drove of mules was passing the prison on their way to some of the camps or corrals, and this brought out a number of stories illustrating peculiar traits or features of that useful and much-abused creature--the mule.

“When the Confederate army was encamped at Manassas,” said Bennett, “after the battle of Bull Run, the mules, being fastened to the wagons by their halters, after eating their supply of provender, would start in, biting and chewing the feed-boxes and wagon bodies. They were not satisfied with the quantity of long-feed that was dealt out to them and sought to make good the deficiency by chewing up the wagons. To prevent the total demolition of wagons, details of men were sent out daily to cut and bring in loads of hoop-poles for belly-timber, as Bennett termed it. These were spread out before the mules who no doubt found the wood in its crude state as appetizing as when fashioned into wagons or feed-boxes.”

“An old friend of mine, Dr. Green,” said John Carr, “was at one time induced to purchase a lot of mules. They were sold at a sacrifice, and knowing there was a constant demand for mules in army circles, he flattered himself that he had been cut out for a sharp trader, but had always before that time missed his opportunity; that he had made a good investment, and now having the long-delayed opportunity, he would surely get all there was in it. So when he had paid his money he patted himself on the back--figuratively--in a patronizing manner and turned a round dozen well-conditioned mules into his pasture.

“In this field where he had put the mules his riding-horse was accustomed to graze. A close intimacy sprang up between the mules and the horse. On Sunday, when Dr. Green brought up his horse in order to attend service at the village church, he noticed a commotion among the mules, but paid no further attention to them.

“While riding to church with his wife, however, he heard a noise on the road behind them, a tramping of hoofs, with a nickering and braying. Soon the mules came in sight, frisking about and apparently delighted to overtake their newly-found friend and comrade, the horse. They refused to be sent back, and the Doctor and his wife rode into town to church at the head of a drove of mules.”

_Tuesday, March 3._--Last night about midnight I was awakened by a noise and great commotion in the building. A man in the adjoining room cried out lustily, “Fire! Fire!” Then there was a knocking at the doors. The flames were breaking out through a board partition which cuts off a portion of our room, making an entry to the adjoining room. The fire had not gained much headway, however, and a little water soon extinguished it. For a time there was great confusion and excitement. The guard at the door, as soon as he was aware of the fact, cried out “Corporal of the guard, Post No. 5--Fire!” Then the word was passed from sentinel to sentinel, until it rang through the building. Men were jumping out of their bunks, hastily putting on their clothes, some cursing, calling for things they were unable to find--“Where’s my pants?” “Where’s my boots?” In the confusion one man would grab up an article belonging to another--often a misfit. I lay quietly in my bunk for a while. I felt there could be little danger from fire occurring in the rooms occupied by either the prisoners or guards; for if by any mischance a fire should break out, it would soon be discovered and quickly extinguished. Or, if in the outhouse or kitchen, they, being small buildings, the fire could be put out before it communicated to the main building--the prison itself.

At the time of the greatest excitement one man said: “Look out of the window and see the light. The building is on fire.” When this light was found to proceed from the rising moon, it had a quieting effect on the panic. A sergeant came in with a light and searched around to find out how the fire originated. After this a lieutenant with a few privates came in under arms, and examined thoroughly and questioned, but no one appeared to know how it started. If the fire had progressed to any great extent before discovery, no doubt many of the prisoners would have escaped as it would have been impossible for the guards to have kept in check the large number of prisoners now in the building.

_Wednesday, March 4._--Congress adjourned to-day. From the prison window we saw the flag lowered.

At night Superintendent Wood came to the door and called me out of the room. He walked over and sat at the foot of the stairs in the big hall leading to the floor above, and told me to sit down beside him. He asked me where I belonged. I said:

“I am a citizen of Washington. This is my home.”

“What were you doing South?” asked Wood.

“Working at my business.”

“Where did you work?”

“At Ritchie & Dunnavant’s.”

“What kind of work was done there?”

“They did the State printing and a portion of the Government work.”

“When did you go South?”

“Just before the commencement of hostilities.”

“How did you get back?”

“I came across the Potomac River.”

“You didn’t bring any letters, or anything of that kind?”

“No; I brought nothing but my wife and children.”

“Are you willing to take an oath to support the Government?”

“No, sir.”

“Then we will have to send you back South.”

I said, “Mr. Wood, I am in your hands, a prisoner, and powerless to resist. I am obliged to submit to whatever disposition you may make of me.”

“A couple of gentlemen called to see me about you,” said Mr. Wood, “and I am anxious to do all I can for you. You know that this city is in a special manner under the care and jurisdiction of the President and Congress, and if you are a citizen of this place you ought to submit to the law.”