The time dragged heavily, although we amused ourselves by singing
Southern songs and playing games, some very pretty chess-men and
chequers having been made by the prisoners. There were cards in
abundance, and there was a faro-bank; but these games were not
patronized by our mess. Once on a Sunday we were allowed to go to
Church service on the ramparts, but this privilege was not granted
again.
The confinement had a serious effect upon me, and I became really
unwell; but new courage was given to all of us by the rumor that
there would soon be a general exchange of prisoners, and that we
should be released on parole. The rumor gained ground; but day
after day passed and no confirmation came. When we had almost
given up hope, an Orderly announced to us that Major Burton, the
Commandant, had sent a message to us, which he would deliver if we
would receive it quietly. In a moment all was still: “Major Burton
says that orders have been received from Washington to send you all
on to Virginia to be exchanged, as soon as boats can be secured.”
We could not restrain the cheers that rose to our lips.
A day or two afterwards, when we began to think that we had
been deceived, the printed forms of parole were brought in for
signature. This part of the performance having been completed,
Major Holliday, the senior officer, was called for, and went out.
Shortly afterwards one of the Captains was taken away; then another
Captain was sent for. When five or six had gone out and none
had returned, so that all the tracks went one way, we began to
wonder what it meant. My name was next called. I went out, and was
conducted to Major Burton’s office, where was an officer in full
uniform. Major Burton said that Colonel ----, of the United States
Army, wished to speak with me. The Colonel asked me whether I was
on General Longstreet’s staff. I told him I was. He then asked me
how many divisions there were on General Longstreet’s command. I
did not answer him. He repeated the question, and asked how many
men Longstreet had. My reply was: “You have no right to ask such
questions; and you cannot suppose that I shall so far forget my
duty as an officer, and my honor as a gentleman, as to tell you
anything whatever concerning the command to which I belong.” Again
being asked the question with the same result, I was given up as
a bad job, and told that I could return to my quarters. Hurrying
back to the room, taking on the way a bag of cakes that some sweet
Maryland girls offered me, I reached the room and found the men
there in great excitement, as no one of those who had been called
out had come back. I described what was going on, and bade them be
on their guard. By this time it had been ascertained that I had
returned to our quarters instead of retiring to the room where
were placed the other officers who had been catechized. So I was
hurried out again, and unceremoniously put in the pen. The object
was to keep the officers in our quarters in ignorance of what was
expected to be extracted from them. But the hint I had had time to
give was sufficient. Thenceforward the haughty Colonel received
free answers to his questions; but I am not disposed to think that
the information was very valuable. He asked particularly the number
of Maryland troops in our service, and one officer told him that we
now had fifty thousand Maryland Infantry, ten thousand Cavalry,
and five battalions of Artillery. The interrogator was astonished.
He said he had thought that there were only one or two thousand
Maryland troops in our service, which was near the truth. The
officer told him that of late all the Marylanders in the different
Brigades had been consolidated into a Maryland Corps, which had
the strength stated. A special note was taken of this information.
Another officer belonged to a Brigade which had about four hundred
muskets, and was asked the strength of it. He asked whether his
interrogator wanted to know its present strength or the usual
strength. The Colonel said he wanted to know both. The officer told
him that the usual strength was about twenty-two hundred men, but
he reckoned it had not more than eighteen hundred men now.
At last the long expected steamers came, and we went aboard. Our
confinement was at an end, and only the sea trip and the run up the
James River lay before us. The Sutler tried hard to play a Yankee
trick. I have mentioned that we pawned watches and chains with him
in order to buy provisions. Prior to the time for leaving the Fort
most of us had obtained the money to redeem them. Major Burton
indeed offered to furnish us any small sum that we needed, which we
might remit to him when we reached home. But the Sutler, as soon as
he learned that we were going away, went up to Philadelphia, and
did not return. It was evident that he intended to remain absent
until we were out of reach; but the boats were later in arriving
than he expected, and he was obliged to come back to his post. Our
pledges were redeemed, and the Sutler received a severe rebuke from
Major Burton. No one could have been more considerate, consistently
with his duty, than Major Burton was. This is the same noble
officer who had President Davis in charge, after he was taken from
the custody of the brutal officer who caused him to be so tortured
at Fortress Monroe, as described in Dr. Craven’s well known book.
Mrs. Burton was, I think, a Mexican lady, and sympathized very
deeply with the Southerners. One day while we were on our way to
the mess-hall, she waved her handkerchief to us, but I suppose that
the good Major was constrained to prevent so unwise demonstrations
afterwards. We did not see her again.
The fresh sea breeze was very refreshing, and we sat up nearly all
night talking of home. Hunger, however, soon asserted itself, and
we had much difficulty in getting a small piece of cold pork and
some hard-tack. The next evening we reached Fortress Monroe, where
we expected that our baggage would be searched or confiscated; but
by some good fortune it was allowed to pass, and we reached Varina,
ten miles below Richmond, without any trouble, although nearly
famished.
Our commissioner of exchange was expected to meet us, but he was
at church in Richmond with some fair lady, or too happily engaged
otherwise to hurry down to attend to the wants of a few hundred
prisoners who were half starved and pining to be ashore again. So
we remained many hours within ten paces of the shore, before the
necessary forms were complied with and we were allowed to land.
There was some talk of sending us to Camp Lee to remain there until
we should be exchanged; but I was taken by a friend in his carriage
to Richmond, where we arrived at night. I was surprised that my
joy at my deliverance was not so visible on my face that it would
be noticed on the streets, and I half expected that even strangers
would congratulate me. It was the 6th of October when I reached
Richmond. I had been a prisoner of war only three weeks, but it
seemed to me an eternity, and I can hardly realize now that the
time, counted by days and weeks, was really so short. And yet, it
must have been so.