Part 5

“But, Mr. Wood,” said I, “there is no law to compel me to take this oath.”

“You violated the law when you crossed the Potomac.”

“In what manner?”

“In running the blockade.”

“This city is my home. I was South with my family. How could I get home with them without crossing the Potomac. What law did I violate?”

“I have no time to spare,” said Mr. Wood, as he arose and walked away, and I went back to my room.

One more prisoner brought into our room--thirty-seven now in.

_Thursday, March 5._--Boyd Barrett returned. He had a slight attack of varioloid. Haskins, of South Carolina, who was taken away with him, died of smallpox. Another of the party is in a fair way of recovery.

At night about one hundred and fifty Union soldiers were brought in; mostly for desertion and insubordination. They are very bitter in their denunciation of the Government. They seem to care but little for the guards, and do pretty much as they please. Whether from fear or sympathy, the guards appear indifferent to their words or behavior. Some of the soldiers say they “enlisted to fight for the Union and not for the nigger.” One said, “If they bring up all the men who are dissatisfied, the Government will have to build more prisons.”

_Friday, March 6._--My wife came to see me. A corporal came up and escorted me down to the reception room. On entering the room we were seated in chairs placed opposite each other, and at a distance of about three or four feet apart. Then a little puppy, who acts as a clerk or detective, took his seat in a chair which he drew up in front of, and between the chairs occupied by myself and wife; where he could not fail to hear every word that passed. Then he threw himself back in his chair with an air of self-importance, as if to say, “Now you can go on, with my permission.” He interrupted our conversation several times by volunteering remarks altogether uncalled for. My wife said that my mother and she were worried about me at home, as they heard I would be sent away. Hearing this the fellow turned to a lieutenant who was in the room, and asked in a tone which could be heard across the room:

“Can you give me the number and names of the prisoners in Rooms 15 and 16, as they are about to be sent away?”

He knew I was in Room 16, and thought to annoy us by asking this question. At the end of fifteen minutes our conversation was abruptly brought to an end. My wife was compelled to take the oath before she was allowed to see me.

She told me that my son Henry had taken a change for the better within an hour after I left him, at the expiration of my parole, and, knowing I would be anxious to hear about him, they sent me a message to that effect immediately. Two weeks have elapsed, but the message has never been delivered.

Young Thomas Hurst was called down to see his sister directly after my wife left, and he told me he had the same experience as we had, and the same remark was made in the presence of his sister as that used to annoy my wife.

Three Federal soldiers confined here attempted to escape by way of the cellar. Two succeeded and one was caught.

_Sunday, March 8._--About 1:30 P.M., one hundred and fifty prisoners were brought in. They came from St. Louis direct; they are mostly soldiers. They have been in prison--some one, others three and five months. With regard to the soldiers this is a violation of the cartel by the United States authorities. The cartel of exchange provides that prisoners of war be discharged on parole within ten days after capture. These expect to be exchanged about the 16th of this month. They were brought through Baltimore, arriving in this city last night, and were crowded in a place which, from the description given, I judge to be the Central Guard House. They say that they were put into rooms where they were obliged to pass the night in a standing posture, as there was not room enough to lie down. After being brought here they were kept standing in the damp yard (part of the time it was raining), until after ten o’clock at night, when they were removed to the adjoining houses (Duff Green’s Row), Carroll Prison.

Two men, Wesley Phillips and Mitchell, were released to-day. They were captains of schooners engaged in carrying sutlers’ stores to the Army of the Potomac. They were Baltimoreans and very fine men.

_Monday, March 9._--Fine day. After a rain the water drips from the window cornices or eaves of the roof, to the ground, sometimes dropping over the doorway. As some of the guards were on the doorstep they caught the drops and said the men in our room were spitting out of the window. A corporal was sent to the room and although the men explained the matter to him--said they had not spit out, and called his attention to the falling drops, the window was shut down and we are now forced to remain in this close room, with no ventilation and the breaths of thirty-seven men poisoning the air. Our keepers appear to take pleasure in annoying and persecuting those in their power, knowing they can do so without fear or resistance or retaliation.

A man who either drunk or crazy, passing on the opposite side of the street, looked up at the window and seeing the crowd of prisoners, laughed and waved his hat. The officer standing at the door said to the sentry, “You had better bring that fellow in, anyhow.” He was accordingly brought in.

There is a man in Room 16, named Armand. He claims to be from Louisiana. He is of very dark complexion, with black hair, short black beard and mustache. He always wears a blue uniform, but I never saw him with a hat, either indoors or out. He is looked upon with suspicion and shunned by all. By many he is thought to be a spy. If he goes out of the room for any purpose whatever, the other prisoners exchange knowing glances, and shake their heads in a manner indicating distrust. Some do not hesitate to say: “He is now going down to make his report to Wood.” Every act is observed and commented on.

No one cares to be seen speaking to him or noticing him. If he approaches one with a pleasing expression on his face, as if about to speak, the person so approached will turn from him with a look of contempt, or, if addressed, return a half-hearted reply, and with a stealthy look around, as if to see if anyone observed him, shy off in a direction opposite that in which Armand appears to be going. Even the Yankee prisoners are shown more consideration, and more regard paid to their wants and advances. Men who occasionally bestow upon him a look of pity--such as they would give to a poor friendless dog--will quickly turn away if he shows a disposition to return a grateful acknowledgment.

Although I have no means of ascertaining whether this treatment is deserved, or if he is unjustly suspected, yet I cannot shut out from my breast a feeling of pity for the poor fellow.

At night, when all others were soundly sleeping in their bunks, I have often watched him as he paced the floor or stood at the window, his hands folded behind him, looking out into the deserted street, as lonely and forsaken as himself, singing, or rather crooning in a low, mournful, but not unmusical tone:

“When the sad, chilly winds of December, Stole my flowers, my companions, from me.”

_Tuesday, March 10._--Eorio, Comastro and Rinaldi, the three Italians I have already mentioned, were called before the Colonel acting in place of Parker, who is sick.

He questioned them in regard to their arrest, etc. He told them there was no reason for keeping them and they would be released to-morrow. Eorio promised to see my wife and tell her what I could not write her with any certainty of its being delivered. This I learned afterward he did faithfully.

Old Mr. Love was again called before the colonel. He had a certificate from the prison surgeon, stating that he was ill. That the confinement was injuring him, and he should be discharged. The Colonel told him his case would have to go before the Commission.

One of the prison guards to-day snapped his gun twice at a man passing on horseback, but it missed fire each time.

Captain Thomas Phillips was released this afternoon.

_Wednesday, March 11._--This morning as Keleher was looking from the window, singing:

“The niggers we will sell And the Yankees send to hell,” etc.,

a little fussy lieutenant, named Thackery, came bristling up, saying, “I’ll send _you_ to hell,” and as if intending to carry out his threat literally, rushed at Keleher with his arm outstretched to push or grasp him, but just before the hand touched him, Keleher stepped to one side and Thackery, unable to check or recover himself, went spinning halfway across the room. The men, none of whom have any love or good feeling for Thackery, laughed at his discomfiture, and this so irritated the crestfallen lieutenant that he had the guards take Keleher off to the guard house.

James Taylor and James Stant were called and took the oath not to attempt to run the blockade again. Aaron Lewis released.

_Thursday, March 12._--Three more prisoners brought into our room last night. One belonged to Stuart’s Horse Artillery; the other two were citizens.

James Ewell released. Russell released; he had British protection. Frank Thornton, who had been out on parole, returned.

A man confined in the guard house knocked down a portion of the partition. He was taken out and tied up by the wrists to a tree. He broke the cords after a time and released himself. He was then removed, but I do not know what was done with him after.

Among my room-mates I have discovered an old schoolmate, Thomas Holbrook, of Baltimore. He and I were schoolboys together at a school kept by Martin J. Kerney, in a little one-story brick building, situated on Exeter Street, between Baltimore and Fayette, Baltimore City. Mr. Kerney was a graduate of Mount St. Mary’s College, Emmittsburg, Md. After giving up school teaching he entered into the practice of law and was afterward a member of the Maryland State Legislature. He was the author of a number of educational works, some of which are still used. Three of the Booth brothers--Edwin, the celebrated actor; John Wilkes, who shot Lincoln, and Joseph Adrian Booth, who afterward became a physician, and also John Sleeper Clarke, the comedian, who later on married Asia Booth, a sister of the Booth brothers, were all attending this school at the same time with us. Holbrook is quite a valuable addition to our company. He is exceedingly clever in handling playing cards and often amuses us with exhibitions of tricks, in which he displays remarkable dexterity. He thus helps us while away many a tedious hour. He was at one time in the Navy, and, like all seafaring men, is handy about the house. We all are glad when it is Tom’s day in the kitchen as cook for the mess. He will say, “Well, boys, what will it be to-day--lobscouse or skilligalee?”

He will take a ham-bone, from which most of the meat has been cut, and sitting down will patiently pick off with a pocket-knife every scrap of fat and lean, and with the addition of a few potatoes or other ingredients, will serve up quite a tasty little side dish for our table.

An old man who had been confined here for some time, was released a few days ago. He was bent with age, and very feeble and childish, so that when here he would often get lost in the building. After wandering about for some time he came back. He said he thought the war was over when he was sent off. That he was away from home; 84 years of age; with no place to go and no means of getting to his home. He begged to be taken back.

At night a sergeant came into the room with a list of names which he called over; my name being among the number. He asked each one if he wanted to go to Richmond. All those who are booked for Richmond are greatly elated at the prospect of their release from prison and a trip to Dixie. Whiskey was smuggled in and several of the fortunate ones were quite lively. Very little sleep to-night for anyone here.

Fitzhugh Carter, or as he was familiarly called “Chew Carter,” was a sprightly little fellow from Fauquier County, Virginia. Brought up on a farm and enjoying in his early life the companionship of the little darkies, he had acquired much of their quaint dialect and rollicking manners. On this night Chew had by some means got more than a fair share of the smuggled whiskey.

When the lieutenant came in for roll-call, it was the custom for the prisoners to form in one line, while the lieutenant with the guard would stand at the head, and as each man’s name was called he would step out, turn and face the line he had just left. This would be repeated until, when all the names were called, the new line would be formed opposite that formerly occupied by the first line.

As it was a difficult matter for poor Chew to preserve his equilibrium, his comrades endeavored to keep him steady on the perpendicular by bracing him on either side. All went well until it came his turn to answer. When the officer called “Fitzhugh Carter,” Chew stood erect, pushed his hat back from his forehead and snapped out “Yer, sah!” and lurched forward to the line opposite. The loud and jerky way he was answered appeared to strike the lieutenant, for he raised his head and looked to where the sound came from and then cast his eyes down again to his roll. Just at this moment Chew, apparently satisfied with the accomplishment of his little feat, looked toward the head of the line and observing the action of the lieutenant, said “Who de hell keers foh yo’ damn ol’ roll-call?”

The lieutenant heard the voice, but did not catch the words. He looked down the line. The men who stood on either side of Chew nudged him to keep quiet, and all looked so innocent of any wrong-doing that the officer evidently disbelieved his ears, if they carried a trace of the actual words uttered, for he proceeded with his roll-call without further interruption.

When the lieutenant left the room one of his comrades said:

“Chew, where did you get it all?”

“Jis’ had one drink,” replied Chew.

“Then you must have tapped a still-house,” said Ed. O’Brien, and he sung--

“The man that has good whiskey And giveth his neighbor none, Sha’n’t have any of my good whiskey When his good whiskey is gone.” “When--

“Now, altogether”--(and all took up the refrain):

“When his good whiskey is gone.”

There was one little incident during Chew’s sojourn in the Old Capitol which proved that the course of love does run smoothly sometimes--even love of whiskey. Chew was very thirsty, and was determined to quench that thirst. At “Sick Call,” he joined the throng who wended their way to the hospital.

“Oh, I’m so sick. I got sich cramps. Bin sick all night,” said Chew, as he entered the hospital, with one hand clutching a portion of his garments covering the part of his anatomy where cramps are supposed to locate, and the other pressed against his forehead.

“I’ll give you a dose of castor oil,” said the hospital steward.

“Oh,” said Chew, “I kaint take castoh oil. Nevah could take it.”

“I’ll fix it up so you won’t taste it.”

“It’s no use, I know. You’ll hav’ter give me somethin’ else.”

The steward poured a little whiskey in the bottom of a glass; then poured in the oil, which was quite stiff, and after that put whiskey on top. Chew took the glass and with a quick toss gulped down the whiskey before the oil had fairly started to flow, and handed the glass back, saying: “Take it quick. I’m afeerd I’ll throw it up”--at the same time making such grimaces that one would think he really had swallowed a nauseous dose.

“You haven’t taken any of the oil,” said the steward. “Here; drink it down.”

“Oh, I got a big mouthful, an’ I’m pow’ful sick.”

“I’ll put some more whiskey on top. Drink it quick and you won’t taste it.”

“I did drink it jis’ ez quick ez I could. I’ll try, but I know it won’t stay down.”

Taking the glass he tossed off the whiskey from the top, as before, and leaving the oil. The steward, now seeing through the trick, said: “You can take that now as it is, for I will not put another drop of whiskey in it.”

“Well,” said Chew, as he moved toward the door, “I dun told ye I couldn’t take castoh oil. I nevah could take it. I drink’t it quick ez I could. I kin take mos’ ennything better’n castoh oil.” He came back to his room where he told of the success of his scheme to his laughing companions.

_Saturday, March 14._--Last night we got the daily papers--the first for several days. In the kitchen the cooks were at work nearly all night to have the rations ready for to-day. It was reported that the prisoners would leave about ten o’clock in the morning. All day the streets were filled with people eager for a glance at the Rebels. About 2 P.M., orders came to pack up, and about 4 P.M., they left the prison. Seventeen were taken from Room 16. Guards were placed in line along the sidewalks and in the Capitol grounds to keep back the crowd who had assembled to witness the departure. There were ambulances for the old, infirm, sick and wounded. The soldiers expected to leave to-day, but were left behind, with the exception of a few of the wounded.

_Sunday, March 15._--It seems lonely to-day on account of the change--we miss so many familiar faces. It seems like a break in the family. Six more prisoners were put in our room, making twenty-one in all. There are two cases of smallpox in the next room.

_Monday, March 16._--This morning the prisoners from Room 14, were crowded into our room while that room was being cleaned and whitewashed. There are twenty-one of them--some are broken out with smallpox.

_Tuesday, March 17._--The men having smallpox, who were put in our room yesterday from Room 14 were to-day put in Room 18. If they are changed around a few more times the disease will be pretty well spread.

Two men, father and son, just brought in, were captured in a raid on the Potomac River. They are citizens. Their families are left without support or protection. The wife of one about being confined. Both men agreed to take the oath, but were told that as they would do so only on account of their situation they would not be released.

Volney Purcell, of Loudoun County, Virginia, was called to-day. Colonel Buell asked him what charges were against him. He replied he did not know. Purcell then asked Colonel Buell if _he_ knew. Buell said he did not; there was nothing that he could see. Purcell then said: “Can you not release me, then?” “No,” said Buell, “I cannot.” Purcell said he thought it very strange that he should be brought from his home and kept here without any charge. Buell said it was strange, but his case would have to go before the Commission.

The prison yard is now in a very filthy condition. In rainy weather a great part of the space allowed the prisoners for exercise is covered with mud.

_Wednesday, March 18._--I was called to-day by Colonel Buell. After questioning me regarding my arrest and imprisonment, he asked if I would take the oath.

“No, sir,” said I.

“What,” said he, “not willing to take the oath. I will acknowledge that my sympathies were enlisted in your behalf, but your refusal to take the oath puts an entirely different face on the matter. Had you told me that at first it might have saved this examination. In fact, you need not have left your room.”

“What charges are against me?” I asked. “If there are any, let me have a fair trial, as is my right, and if I am found guilty I am willing to suffer punishment, but if there are none you have no right to keep me here.”

“You have a very exalted opinion of the leniency of this Government, to think that after having been South you could be permitted to come back here and live without taking the oath.”

“No, sir,” said I, “I have no reason to have a very exalted opinion of the leniency of this Government. I had a right to go where I pleased before the blockade was established, and afterward had a right to come to my home where I belonged. I would not take that oath if it were offered to me at the South, and I do not see how any man can honestly take it with the intention of keeping it--‘to support, protect and defend a government or administration, _now and hereafter, under any and all circumstances_.’ How do I know what may be done hereafter?”

“I have taken that oath,” said Colonel Buell.

“That may be,” said I; “your views and mine differ on the subject of right and wrong.”

“Go back to your room, sir,” said Buell, and that terminated the interview.

_Thursday, March 19._--An officer came up to-day with a paper and called over the names of seven in our room (Room 16)--Holbrook, Barnes, Littlepage, Keleher, Hoyle, Simmons and myself, and at night we were removed to Room 10. With the three prisoners already in the room there are ten of us now in a small room with two bunks and three small beds. Room 10 is on the north side of the building, third story, first window from the corner on First Street.

_Friday, March 20._--The prisoners brought in numbered twenty-five instead of seventy-five as reported in the daily papers, where it is stated that they were taken in a fight with Stuart’s Cavalry, and that nothing but the saber was used. The prisoners say the Federals had artillery and used it.

_Sunday, March 22._--Two elderly ladies, with a small child, were brought in from the street for saluting prisoners.

The prison officials are taking the names of soldiers to-day preparatory to exchange.

_Monday, March 23._--It is said that the private soldiers will be sent off to-morrow. The officers will not go.

One of the prison guards, named Highland, who has always acted very kindly toward the prisoners while on post, and has made many friends among them, told me that two young ladies have been brought in and are now confined in Duff Green’s Row (Carroll Prison). He does not know who they are or what charges are against them. I understand a number of citizens from the neighborhood of Fairfax Court House have been arrested and brought in since Mosby’s raid and capture of General Stoughton, and these ladies may be of that number.[G]

_Tuesday, March 24._--I have been suffering from severe cold for several days. Our room is small, close and ill-ventilated, and here we are kept penned up, with the exception of the time we are allowed out at meal times. Then we are out in a damp yard, which is so crowded when there is a large number of prisoners here (as at the present time,) that there is little room for comfortable exercise. In this yard we stand for about a half-hour, consequently nearly all of us are troubled with colds.

The prisoners booked for exchange are here yet, and it is hard to say when they will leave. It is reported that a number of prisoners are expected from Camp Chase or some other place, and that is a reason given for the delay.

_Wednesday, March 25._--At night, a short time before roll-call, the clerk came up and inquired if all in the room were “State” prisoners. Receiving an affirmative reply, he asked who wanted to go to Dixie. Simmons, Barnes and myself answered “Here.”

OFF FOR DIXIE

_Thursday, March 26._--Could not sleep last night. Got up about twelve or one o’clock, took a smoke and then lay down until near daylight. I then got up and went down to the prison yard. I understand a batch of prisoners were brought in about eleven o’clock last night. I heard a great tramping of feet at that time.

At three o’clock in the afternoon, all who expected to go to Richmond were called down in the yard and the roll called by Superintendent Wood. When he came to my name he asked where I was taken.

I said “Here, in Washington.”

“What were you doing?”

“At the store, attending to my business.”

“Stand back. You can’t go.”