[Illustration: OLD CAPITOL PRISON, WASHINGTON, D. C.]
PRISON LIFE IN THE
OLD CAPITOL
AND
REMINISCENCES OF THE CIVIL WAR
BY
JAMES J. WILLIAMSON
_Author of “Mosby’s Rangers”_
_Illustrations by_
B. F. WILLIAMSON
WEST ORANGE, N. J.
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911
BY
JAMES J. WILLIAMSON
PREFACE
It is not my intention in my prison diary to discuss the constitutional
or legal question of arbitrary arrests and imprisonment of
non-combatants, but to present to my readers a picture of the daily
routine of prison life as I saw it, together with incidents related to
me by fellow-prisoners.
Conditions in the Old Capitol differed in many respects from the prison
camps. Prisoners in the Old Capitol were mostly civilians, except where
soldiers (either prisoners of war or men charged with offenses), were
brought in and kept until they could be sent to places designated; or
prisoners from other prisons held over until they could be shipped
South for exchange.
In the itinerary of our journey from Parole Camp to Upperville I have
given little details which to some may seem trivial and unworthy of
note, but I give them to show existing conditions in sections of the
Confederacy through which we passed.
I do not feel that I am straying from the subject of this narrative of
prison experience in appending some facts concerning the treatment of
prisoners of war. It is only by laying before the people a frank and
faithful statement that we can overcome prejudice and hostile feeling,
and bring about that hearty reunion which is earnestly desired by all
who have the peace and prosperity of the country at heart.
I have before me a report of a sermon from the New York _Press_, May,
1909, in which a minister of the Gospel (?) residing within the limits
of Greater New York speaks of “_the infamous Captain Wirz_”--“_a
murderer_.” It is charitable to attribute such language from the lips
of a minister to ignorance rather than malice. Yet, while persons are
found who entertain and publicly express such sentiments, I cannot be
open to the charge of desiring to awaken and perpetuate bitter memories
if I seek to place on record the true history of Major Wirz, to refute
the falsehoods and misrepresentations which have crept into history and
are still believed by some.
When the grave questions which for years agitated our country had
reached the crisis, and there remained but the _ultima ratio regum_,
they were submitted to the arbitrament of the battlefield. We of the
South accepted the result of that contest and laid down our arms in
good faith. But when we are asked, like a whipped child, to say we were
wrong and are sorry for what we did, and promise to sin no more, it is
asking too much. We fought for what we considered our rights, and lost.
Yet our men, who fought and lost, and those who died in the struggle,
were just as brave and as honest as the men who wore the blue. _They_
fought for the Union, _we_ fought for our homes, for our wives and
our dear ones. For those of our dead who were consigned to death and
ignominy we do not ask pity, but only for that justice which was denied
them in life--that the blot upon their reputations be effaced and their
names stand out clear and stainless.
The little episode in relation to the Fairfax Court House raid will
need no apology for its introduction, as I have already had occasion to
refer to that affair in my diary.
The illustrations here given are from drawings made by my son, B. F.
Williamson.
JAMES J. WILLIAMSON.
_West Orange N. J., April, 1911._
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Old Capitol Prison [_Frontispiece_]
Exemption Certificate 16
Pass Through Confederate Lines 17
Carroll Prison (Duff Green’s Row) 21
Arch Window in Room No. 16 24
Colonel William P. Wood, Superintendent 33
James J. Williamson 39
Stove in Room No. 16 55
Map of James River, from Fortress Monroe to Richmond 93
John H. Barnes 96
Lieutenant Albert Wrenn 99
Colonel John S. Mosby 106
Lieutenant Frank Fox 109
Brigadier-General Edwin H. Stoughton 116
Certificate of Membership 118
Major Henry Wirz 133
Rev. F. E. Boyle 140
Rev. Bernardin F. Wiget, S. J. 143
Gunnell House (General Stoughton’s Headquarters) 155
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 11
Maryland My Native State--Baltimore My
Home--Outbreak of Civil War--Leave Sick-bed
and Start for Seat of War--Wrecked on Railroad--Gala
Days in Richmond--Running the
Blockade.
PRISON LIFE IN THE OLD CAPITOL 19
My Arrest and Imprisonment--Description
and History of the Old Capitol--Iron-clad Oath.
_Diary Kept During My Imprisonment_: Daily
Routine--Men I Met There--Stories I Heard
There and General Features of Prison Life--Rations,
Recreations and Rules--How We Passed
Our Time--Fresh Fish--Paroles--Superintendent
Wood--Sundays in Prison--Belle Boyd--Gus
Williams--Shooting of Prisoners--An Old
Schoolmate--Blockade Runners--Outrages on
Citizens--Spies and Detectives--Old Men,
Women and Children Imprisoned--Western
Prisoners--Escape of Prisoners--Overcrowded,
Vermin and Smallpox.
OFF FOR DIXIE 89
From Old Capitol to Parole Camp to Await
Exchange--Down the Potomac on Flag-of-Truce
Boat to Fortress Monroe--Wrecks of United
States Warships Sunk in Fight With Confederate
Iron-clad _Virginia_ (_Merrimac_)--Steaming
Up James River--Jamestown--Westover, Residence
of Colonel William Byrd--City Point as it
then Looked--From City Point to Petersburg
and Model Farm Barracks, Parole Camp.
LIFE AT PAROLE CAMP 98
Short Rations and Little Comfort--Petersburg
in Spring of 1863--Change of Diet; Beans and
Brandy--Western Prisoners at Parole Camp
Complain of Hardships at Camp Chase, Camp
Douglas and Johnson’s Island; Cruelty of Guards
and Great Mortality Among Confederate
Prisoners--Exchanged and Mustered Into Confederate
Service--Bathe in Elk Licking Creek, Where We
Left Off Our Bad Habits and With Them a Host
of Little Attachments We Could Not Shake Off
in Prison--Leave Parole Camp.
ITINERARY OF JOURNEY FROM PAROLE CAMP TO UPPERVILLE 108
Richmond in the Spring of 1863--Gordonsville--Madison
Court House--Along Robertson
River--Crossing the Blue Ridge at Milani’s
Gap--Wild Road Over the Mountains--Tramping
Down the Valley--Along the Shenandoah--Luray
and Front Royal--On Old Manassas Gap Railroad--Halt
by the Wayside--Crossing Goose
Creek Under Difficulties--Reached Upperville,
Where I First Saw Mosby and Joined His Command--Meet
Old Friends and Fellow Prisoners.
List of Prisoners in Room 16, Old Capitol
Prison, During My Term of Imprisonment.
TREATMENT OF PRISONERS OF WAR 122
At Camp Chase, Camp Douglas and Johnson’s
Island--Efforts of Confederate Authorities to
Bring About Exchange--False Impression at the
North--United States Authorities Did Not Want
Exchange--Letter of Robert Ould to Major-General
Hitchcock--Letter of Ould to _National
Intelligencer_--Report of General Seymour to
Colonel Hoffman, Commissary-General of
Prisoners--General Ben Butler Tells How His Efforts
Were Frustrated--General Jubal A. Early
Comments on General Order No. 209, Issued by
War Department, Washington--Extracts from
Report of Committee of Confederate Congress
on Treatment of Prisoners of War--Publications
Issued by United States Authorities and Others
to Stir Up and Keep Alive War Spirit Among
Northern People--A Vindication of the South--About
Dead-lines.
MAJOR HENRY WIRZ, C. S. A. 131
_True History of the Wirz Case_: Sacrificed to
Gratify Malignity of Men in Authority and Pander
to the Passion of the Mob--Wirz Not Responsible
for Sufferings at Andersonville--Brief
Sketch of the Man--His Efforts to Better Condition
of Federal Prisoners--His Trial--Witnesses
Not Allowed to Testify in His Behalf--Letter
of General John D. Imboden--Letter of
Robert Ould--Rev. Father Whelan--Hired Witnesses
Swear Away the Life of Wirz--Condemned
on False Charges--Thirteen Specifications
of Men Said to Have Been Murdered by
Wirz, But Not One Named--Charged with Conspiracy
and Hanged, But no Other Conspirator
Punished--Offered His Freedom if He Would
Incriminate Hon. Jefferson Davis--Testimony of
Major Winder--Letter of Rev. Father Boyle--Wirz’s
Bearing at the Trial and on the Scaffold--His
Execution--Scenes at the Hanging--Rev.
Father Boyle and Father Wiget--Letter
from Wirz’s Wife Received After Termination
of His So-Called Trial--His Last Letter to His
Wife and Children.
DIARY KEPT BY WIRZ DURING HIS IMPRISONMENT AND TRIAL 147
MONUMENT TO WIRZ AT ANDERSONVILLE 152
FAIRFAX COURT HOUSE RAID AND CAPTURE OF GENERAL STOUGHTON 154
Interesting Incident Related by General Stoughton’s
Telegraph Operator--What the Chaplain of
Fifth New York Cavalry Said of this Raid--Sergeant
James F. Ames (Big Yankee).
INTRODUCTORY
Prison life was much the same North or South in its general features,
having its discomforts and privations, its days of worry, its longings
and its disappointments, combined with that chafing under restraint,
which is a feeling common to all men. Yet the sufferings of prisoners
could have been alleviated in the North to a greater degree than was
possible at the South, where in most cases the distress was due to
lack of means to relieve it. The Confederate Government could not do
for Federal prisoners what it was unable to do for its own soldiers or
people.
It is not strange that when the flood of war swept over the country I
should plunge into its turbulent waters and be carried along with the
current. This martial spirit was inherited and fostered from the cradle
up. My grandmother came to this country from Ireland in the stormy days
of the rebellion of 1798. When but a little child I would sit by her
side for hours, drinking in, like a heated, thirsty traveler, the wild
stories of the exciting scenes she had witnessed there, and listening
to the pathetic recital of the wrongs of her loved country and its
people. And at night I would drop off to sleep on her lap with the old
Irish rebel songs of ’98 murmuring a lullaby in my baby ears.
It was only natural, too, that I should be enlisted on the Southern
side. I was born in Baltimore, and it was there I passed the early
years of my life. My father, James J. Williamson, had the distinction
of designing and building the first clipper ship ever constructed--the
clipper ship _Ann McKim_, built in Baltimore in 1832, for the old
house of Isaac McKim, of Baltimore. The history of Maryland, with the
record of the heroic deeds of the Old Maryland Line in the War of the
Revolution, had always possessed a charm for me above all other books.
It was my greatest pride to know that I was a Marylander and that
Baltimore was my home.
When I became of age I went to Washington and obtained a position in
the Government Printing Office, where I remained until the breaking out
of the war.
In the spring of 1861, the Federal troops were ordered to march on
Washington. When the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment was attacked while
passing through Baltimore, I was ill, in bed and under the doctor’s
care. The next day my mother brought into my room the morning paper and
read to me an account of the fighting in Baltimore, and of the threats
made to invade my native State and bombard and destroy Baltimore. I
felt all the youthful fire within me blazing with fury. The warm blood
coursing in my veins carried with it a force which seemed to give an
almost unnatural strength to my feeble body, weakened by a painful
illness. I was seized with a desire to rush at once to the scene of
action. I felt that the bed was no place for me--that I must rouse
myself to meet the issue--that my dear old mother State was calling for
her sons, and I would not let that call go unheeded, but must hasten on
to help guard that sacred soil upon which I had received my being and
in which reposed the ashes of those who were most near and dear to me.
I felt all that enthusiasm with which the Southern hearts were filled
when their States were invaded and their cities and their homes laid
waste. Old Maryland was invaded--I did not care by whom--for whoever
came with hostile intent was an enemy, and her enemies were mine.
I said:
“I am going to Baltimore.”
“When?” asked my mother.
“I will start to-morrow morning.” My mother left the room without reply
to what she thought were idle words.
When the doctor came for his morning visit, my mother said:
“What do you think this boy says? He says he is going to Baltimore.”
“Let him go,” said the doctor, with an incredulous smile.
The next morning when he came, expecting to find me in bed, my mother
said: “Well, Doctor, he has gone to Baltimore.”
The doctor shook his head, and replied, “It will either kill or cure
him.” And it cured him. The day I left my bed I went to Baltimore, and
a week after that I was in Richmond.
When I reached Baltimore trains were running to and from the city
without interruption, but troops were being rushed to Washington, and
it was seen that Baltimore would soon be surrounded and hemmed in by
Federal troops, and it would then be difficult to leave the city, so
I left for Harper’s Ferry, where I understood a body of Confederate
troops were already in camp. From Harper’s Ferry I went, via Strasburg,
to Manassas. There I found a few regiments of Confederates assembled.
From Manassas I started on train for Richmond.
Between Culpeper and Orange Court House we unfortunately came in
collision with a train carrying infantry and a battery of artillery to
Manassas. Both trains were on the same track and coming from opposite
directions. There was a head-on collision; the two engines crashed into
each other and the cars telescoped. There were fourteen killed outright
and a great number wounded, many fatally.
I was sitting in the rear car, talking to a man who stood holding on to
the rear door of the car. When I felt the shock I saw him shoot past me
and down the aisle, between the seats. That night, when I arrived at
Gordonsville, I went to a house, seeking lodgings for the night, and to
my surprise, when the door was opened and the gentleman of the house
stood before me, although his head was bandaged and his arm in a sling,
I recognized in him the man I was conversing with at the time of the
accident.
In Richmond I found a number of acquaintances from Baltimore. A great
many young men were coming in from Maryland, some of whom had been
comrades in military companies in Baltimore, and soon a couple of
companies were organized to be united to a regiment then forming at
Harper’s Ferry, which afterward gained honorable distinction as the
First Maryland Regiment.
Richmond had already put on a military air. In the throngs on the
streets a major part of the male population appeared in stylish
uniforms. These were the gay days in Richmond.
Troops were arriving from the South and West, passing through on their
way to the seat of war. I was particularly struck with the appearance
of the Louisiana troops in their holiday dress, marching proudly along,
with bands playing inspiring martial airs; the drum-major leading off
with stately tread, waving his staff. Tripping gaily after came the
sprightly vivandieres, their dainty little caps tipped saucily to one
side, their shapely ankles peeping from beneath the folds of their
short skirts, and the little keg at their side hanging by a fancy cord
thrown over the shoulder.
At the outbreak of the war the men came out as they had been accustomed
to “play soldiers”--attired in gaudy uniforms, with gay colors, bright,
shining gun barrels and flashing bayonets. The Zouaves with their red
breeches, their red caps or turbans, their gilt braids and chevrons.
These soon gave way to less showy trappings. The jaunty caps were
exchanged for the Kossuth felt hat, the showy jackets, with their rich
gilt braid and trimmings, were replaced by the unpretentious blouse,
and the flaming red breeches were now conspicuous by their absence, and
in their stead comfortable, though less attractive, garments were worn.
The bright gun barrels and flashing bayonets even were found to be no
more efficient than those dulled by age and use, whose somber hue did
not present such a shining mark for a watchful sharpshooter.
In the house where I had taken board there was a gentleman who was
employed in the printing office doing the work of the State and
Confederate Governments. Learning that I had been in the Government
Printing Office in Washington, he said they would be glad to have
me at this office. I told him I expected to join my friends from
Baltimore; that we were anxious to be together in the Confederate army.
He said, “You can be of service on this work just now, and we are badly
in want of help.” I accordingly went to Ritchie & Dunnavant’s, the
parties having charge of this work.
Soon after this my wife ran the blockade and joined me in Richmond.
[Illustration: CERTIFICATE OF EXEMPTION
These were furnished to save annoyance from provost-guards or
Conscript officers.]
After a time, owing to the strict blockade, the fighting around
Richmond, and the scarcity of the necessaries of life, the sufferings
of the people were becoming more serious every day. I felt that while
it was a matter of love and duty on my part to endure these hardships
without murmuring, and to contribute all my efforts to the attainment
of the success of our cause, still I had no right to impose upon others
an amount of distress which they were not called upon to undergo, and
which could in no wise aid in the accomplishment of that object, but
was simply adding to the number of non-combatants who were consuming
the scanty store of supplies without contributing to their increase.
Taking this view of the situation, I decided to run the blockade, and
after getting my wife and children safely outside of the lines, where
they would be properly cared for and have those comforts which I could
not obtain for them in Richmond, I could then take chances for my
return to the scene of duty.
[Illustration: PASS THROUGH CONFEDERATE LINES]
I procured a pass for myself, wife and children through the Confederate
lines, and, traveling in the most primitive fashion, striking out
from Hanover Junction, crossed the Rappahannock River, and reached
Westmoreland Court House one summer evening, in an ox-cart. We waited
at the Potomac River for a favorable opportunity to cross without too
great risk of capture by one of the United States gunboats patroling
the river, and then crossed in an open boat to Stone’s Landing, on the
Maryland side. Here we were very comfortable, with a nice breakfast
of fish and oysters fresh from the water, until the steamboat came
along which was to take us to Washington. There were a number of Union
officers and soldiers on the boat, but having my wife and little
children with me I suppose averted whatever suspicion they might
otherwise have entertained, and we reached Washington without any
mishap.
PRISON LIFE IN THE OLD CAPITOL
On the evening of Saturday, January 31, 1863, between seven and eight
o’clock, an officer in full uniform, but unarmed, came into a bookstore
on Seventh Street, Washington, D. C., where I was then engaged, and
asked for the proprietor, Mr. Russell. I pointed out Russell. The
officer then asked him if he knew a Mr. Williamson. Russell answered,
“Yes.”
“Is he a printer?” asked the officer.
“Yes.”
“Is he the only one of that name that you know?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“There he is,” answered Russell, pointing toward me.
The officer walked over to me and said:
“Sir, you will have to come along with me.”
“All right,” said I.
He then went to the door and called in a soldier he had left standing
guard outside, and said:
“Take charge of that man.”
I asked the officer if I would be permitted to call at my home in
order to acquaint my family with the cause of my absence. He said I
would not; that I must go to the Provost-Marshal’s office. I obtained
permission to send a note to my wife, stating that I was under arrest.
Putting on my hat and coat, I was marched to the corner of Eighth
Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. Here we halted, and the officer called
out to another soldier, who stood there holding his sword, which he
took from the man and buckled on. Placing me between the two guards, we
all marched up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Provost-Marshal’s office. The
Marshal was not in, but his assistant said:
“Do you belong in Washington?”
“I do,” said I.
“Haven’t you been South lately?”
“Yes,” I said; “I came from Richmond on the third of last August.”
“Have you reported yourself to the military authorities?”
“I have not.”
He next asked me if I would take the oath of allegiance to the
Government. I told him I would not; that I could not think of doing
so. He said I would have time enough to think about it, as it might be
necessary to do so before I could obtain my release. That I was charged
with having been in Richmond, and also with being accessory to the
imprisonment of some Union citizens.
I again asked if I would be permitted to go home under escort of a
guard, so as to acquaint my family with the cause of my absence and
also to get a change of clothing and some few articles necessary for me
during the time I might be kept under arrest. This request was denied,
and I was marched off under guard to the Old Capitol Prison, at the
corner of First and A Streets.
The building known as the Old Capitol had a memorable history. Built
in 1800, it was originally designed for a tavern or boarding-house,
but owing to bad management it proved a failure and was closed shortly
before the War of 1812.
In August, 1814, when the British troops under General Ross entered
Washington, they burned the Capitol and other public buildings, and the
Government bought this old tavern or boarding-house, in which Congress
should hold their sessions and public business be transacted until the
Capitol could be rebuilt.
[Illustration: CARROLL PRISON (DUFF GREEN’S ROW)]
The interior of the building was completely renovated and
reconstructed, and here both Houses sat for a number of years. Within
its walls two Presidents were inaugurated, and here some of our most
distinguished statesmen began their careers. It was in this building
the Hon. John C. Calhoun died.
When it was abandoned by Congress upon the completion of the Capitol,
it was called the “Old Capitol,” as a distinctive title. After that it
underwent a number of changes as boarding-house, school, etc., until,
in 1861, it was taken by the Washington authorities to be used as a
prison.
A row of houses on the adjoining block, known as Duff Green’s Row, was
afterward taken and used as an annex to the Old Capitol, and for the
same purpose. It was called the “Carroll Prison.”
On arriving at the Old Capitol, we were halted at the entrance by
the sentry patroling the pavement in front of the prison door, who
called out with a loud voice, “Corporal of the guard; Post No. 1.”
This brought out the corporal, with his musket at his shoulder, and he
escorted us inside.
Entering the prison from First Street, we passed through a broad
hallway, which was used as a guard room, and thence into a room where
prisoners were first taken to be questioned and searched. I found the
lieutenant in charge more courteous than any of those in whose custody
I had been. After receiving my commitment from the guard who brought
me from the Provost-Marshal’s office, he inquired if I had any arms
or other prohibited goods in my possession. I replied that the only
article I had which might come within the forbidden class was a small
pocket-knife, which I took from my pocket and handed him. He smiled as
he gave it back, and made no further search. He asked me if I had been
to supper, and receiving a negative reply, led me to a dirty, dismal
room, which I afterward learned was the mess-room. Here, grouped around
a big stove was a gang of negroes, one of whom, at the lieutenant’s
command, brought out a chunk of beef, a slice of bread over an inch
thick, and a cup of coffee (?), sweetened, but without milk. This was
set out on a table, of what material constructed it was impossible to
determine on account of the accumulation of dirt. The meat was served
in a tin plate which looked as though it might have been through the
Peninsular campaign.
Though I failed, no doubt, to do full justice to the repast set before
me by the good-natured lieutenant, I certainly appreciated his good
intentions and his honest efforts to entertain me with the best at his
command.
The lieutenant sat and talked with me for some time before taking me
to my room. He asked me if I would take the oath of allegiance to the
Government. I told him I would not. He asked if I would be willing to
take an oath to support the Constitution of the United States. “Yes,”
said I, “but not an oath to support the Government or Administration.”
He asked if I were living in a Northern city and came to Washington and
went into business, would I in that case take the oath. I told him I
would not. I said, “If I were in the South, even, and that iron-clad
oath” (as it was called) “was offered to me, I would not take it.”[A]
He then accompanied me upstairs to Room No. 16, and here, after the
door was unlocked, I was ushered into my future quarters. I was
welcomed and introduced by one of my fellow-prisoners to the others of
the party, some of whom had been brought in that same day.
[Illustration: WINDOW IN ROOM 16]
Room No. 16 was a spacious room, with one very large arch window
opposite the door from which the room was entered. This window was
directly over the main entrance to the building on First Street, and
in by-gone days it lighted up the former Senate Chamber. In the middle
of the room a huge cylinder stove formed the centerpiece, while around
and against the walls were twenty-one bunks or berths, arranged in
three tiers, one above the other. There were a couple of pine tables,
each about five feet long, with a miscellaneous collection of chairs,
benches and home-made apologies for seats.
When the building was used as the Capitol, this floor contained the
Senate and House of Representatives, but after its abandonment by
Congress the floor was cut up into five rooms, now numbered from 14
to 18--No. 16 being the largest. The doors of all opened into a large
hall, from which a broad stairway led to the floor below.
After spending a couple of hours in swapping stories and getting better
acquainted, the whole party adjourned to their up-and-downy beds.
_Sunday, February 1, 1863._--My first night in my new quarters was a
very uncomfortable one. An old blanket spread over the hard boards,
with a piece of wood morticed in at the head for a pillow, was the
bed on which I was expected to sleep. All night the steady tramp of
the sentry up and down the hall outside of our room door, with the
clanking of arms, the challenging of the guards and the calls of the
relief through the night, kept me awake, until at last tired nature
gave way and the god of sleep closed my weary eyes. How long I slept I
know not, but when I woke it was as if awaking from a troubled dream.
I looked around at my surroundings and then lay down again on my bunk,
pondering on the events of the past night. After a while I got up and
took a wash. There was but little time required for dressing. Soon
the door was thrown open and there was a call to breakfast. Being
totally unacquainted with the daily routine, I mechanically followed
the crowd, without knowing where it would lead me. It led me to the
mess-room. It might have led me to a worse place, but it would have
been difficult to find.
It was a long, dirty, gloomy-looking room, with nothing in its
appearance to tempt the appetite, and the food looked as though
served at second-hand. The odor which assailed the nostrils seemed
as if coming from an ancient garbage heap. The waiter stood at the
head of the long board table, with a handful of tin cups filled with
a liquid by courtesy called coffee. He would, with a dextrous twist
of the wrist, send them spinning along down the table, leaving each
man to catch one of the flying cups before it slid past. Fortunately,
the waiter had by practice acquired sufficient skill to enable him
to shoot a cup in your direction without spilling more than one-half
of its contents. With this was served a chunk of beef and a slice of
bread. The beef was left untouched by those who had the privilege and
the means of providing their own food, but the bread was good, and a
generous slice. I saw my companions slipping their quota of bread under
the breasts of their coats, and I did the same.
After a half-hour’s recreation in the prison yard, we went back to our
rooms and were locked in. In our room a table was spread and we had
breakfast of ham, sausage, bread, butter and tea.
Room No. 16 faces the east front of the Capitol, and by standing or
sitting back a short distance from the window we can look out and see
the passers-by. No persons, however, are allowed to show any signs of
recognition. If a person is seen loitering in passing the prison, or
walking at a pace not considered satisfactory by the guard, he soon
receives a peremptory command to “pass on,” or, “Hurry up, there,” and
if this warning is not heeded the offending person, whether male or
female, is arrested and detained.
This morning, two gentlemen walking down on the opposite side of the
street, looked across and smiled. One of my room-mates raised his hat
and bowed. One of the gentlemen did the same. Immediately we heard the
sentry under the window call out: “Corporal of the guard, Post No. 1,”
and an officer coming out, the person was pointed out, with the remark,
“That man bowed over here.” A guard was instantly dispatched after him,
and he was brought over, but was released in a short time.
Dinner to-day consisted of boiled beans and rusty-looking fat pork,
with molasses (the molasses thin as water), served up in a dirty tin
plate. There being neither knife, fork nor spoon given out with it, the
only way the mixture could be eaten was by dipping it up with the bread
and thus conveying it to the mouth.
When we went back to our room we prepared dinner from our own supply of
provisions.
This afternoon three young ladies passing the prison looked over very
pleasantly at the prisoners, who were in sight at the window, much to
the displeasure of the guard, who stopped his walk and stood watching
them. Finally, one of them smiled and nodded her head. At this moment
came the call--“Corporal of the guard, Post No. 1.” The young ladies
had by this time reached the corner of the street. Turning around and
seeing the soldier coming after them, they waved their handkerchiefs
and ran down the street. The sentry, after picking his way through the
mud across the street, turned back and gave up the chase.
For supper we had a piece of bread, without butter, and a cup of coffee
(?), without milk.
The bill of fare here given for the three meals of this day would
serve, with but little variation, for the entire time of my detention.
One of the prisoners, a Confederate soldier, whom I met in the yard
to-day, told me that he was just recovering from a fever, and although
he had an excellent appetite, his stomach was weak and he could not eat
the food set before him; that as he had no money to purchase anything
else, he was compelled to go hungry.
With the exception of the bread, which is good (thanks to
Superintendent Wood), the food dealt out here is poor in quality and
insufficient in quantity. I noticed some of the boxes were marked
“White House,” from which I inferred the contents were condemned army
stores.
Those who can afford to do so club together and, having obtained
permission, purchase such articles as the sutler will procure for them.
The goods kept in stock by this dignitary are neither very choice nor
varied, chiefly tobacco, cigars, cakes, candy, pies, etc. For our
mess in Room 16, we select one man as treasurer, and he purchases our
supplies, such as coffee, tea, sugar, cheese, and he occasionally has
a large ham boiled. All of these articles the sutler furnishes at
prices far beyond their market value; but we are glad to get them, and
compelled from necessity to submit to the extortion.
Prisoners having money or friends outside of the prison can obtain
many necessaries and enjoy comforts which are denied those less
fortunate. A friend (Mrs. Ennis), living near the prison, sends dinner
in to me every day. There is always enough to feed three or four
abundantly, and none of it is ever wasted.
We take turns in the household work--cooking and cleaning up--two men
being detailed for this duty each day. It is unnecessary to say our
cooking arrangements are very simple.
In our room there are two, one, I think, a Yankee deserter, known as
“Dutchy” and “Slim Jim,” who are unable to contribute their quota to
the commissary fund, but as they can make a pot of coffee or tea, and
wield a broom or wash a dirty dish, they are always ready to make
up their deficit by taking the place of room-mates afflicted with
hook-worm or victims of inertia.
Having our meals in our own room, we can take the whole half-hour
allowed at meal time for recreation in the prison yard, which gives
us an opportunity to mingle with prisoners from other rooms than our
own. This meeting of old friends and comrades, and the making of new
acquaintances, is a source of great pleasure to us and a relief from
the monotony of what would otherwise be the dull routine of prison life.
_Monday, Feb. 2._--To-night two men were brought into our room. They
say they were employed in General Halleck’s office, and are confined
here for absenting themselves without leave. They are looked upon with
suspicion by our party, who fear they may be spies.
Persons are often put in the rooms with prisoners, who, while posing
as prisoners themselves, are really spies or detectives in the employ
of the officials. They associate with the prisoners in their rooms,
and also in the yard during the time allowed for recreation, and by
assuming an air of injured innocence as victims of oppression, seek to
gain their confidence with the intention of betraying them. If they
can succeed in overcoming their suspicions and induce the prisoners
to speak freely, these detectives report the conversations to their
employers.
_Wednesday, Feb. 4._--Superintendent Wood said last night that he would
allow the party in Room 16 (as they were not satisfied with the prison
fare), if they preferred it, to receive the money in lieu of rations,
and supply themselves. This was agreed to.
Mr. James Fullerton came to see me to-day. An official seated himself
directly in front of us during the interview, and when Mr. Fullerton
proceeded to ask me if I had any idea as to the person who had me
arrested, the official interrupted him, saying he would be allowed to
speak only of family affairs. Mr. Fullerton said he only wished to find
out something of the nature of the charges against me, in order to
furnish rebutting testimony. He was twice interrupted while attempting
to ask me questions.
I had written a note to my wife, asking her to send me a change of
clothing and some articles necessary here, for even with frequent
changes it is difficult to keep free from vermin. To-day I asked Mr.
Drew, the clerk, if it had been sent. He said, “Why, you have sent her
all the word you wanted to send.” I said, “I have sent nothing but the
note which you still retain.” “Oh, then,” said he, “I will send that.
I thought you had written before.” Had I not called his attention to
this note it would not have been delivered.
This was the first and last letter I sent out during my term
of imprisonment, as I found all letters had to go first to the
Provost-Marshal’s office for inspection, and then it was doubtful when
they would reach their destination, if at all. A young man named Hurst
wrote a letter to his father, who was residing in Washington City, and
nine days passed before it was delivered.
A young man named Moore died to-night in one of the adjoining rooms. He
was arrested without any specific charge. Though he was very ill at the
time, he was marched eight miles. This proved too great a strain for
him, and he died soon after his arrival here. His poor old mother was
with him at the time of his death. Knowing his condition, and fearing
he would not survive the effects of the long journey, she followed
after. She was greatly excited. Throwing up her hands, she exclaimed:
“I have lost all. I am ruined. My poor boy was all that was left to me,
and now you have robbed me of him. But if there is a just God He will
not suffer my wrongs to go unpunished.”
Towering up in front of our window rises the stately dome of the
Capitol, its top being prepared for the statue of “Freedom.” What a
contrast! What a spectacle from a prison window!
Some newspapers received to-night contain rumors from Charleston of the
raising of the blockade, and also accounts of some dashing exploits
of Wheeler’s Cavalry, consequently there is great rejoicing among
the Confederate prisoners, who can scarcely contain themselves. The
news soon spread, and cheers were given in every room where they are
confined. The officers on duty were very lenient, and went around
endeavoring to quiet the prisoners, saying the noise sounded badly in
the street, and had a damaging effect. Some of the guards, however,
were in a very ugly mood, and as one of our men went from the room to
get water, one of the soldiers on guard made a wicked thrust at him
with his bayonet.
_Thursday, Feb. 5._--Snowing hard this morning and continuing until
evening, when it turned to rain.
Received parcel to-day from home, containing clothing, etc.
Every day from eight to twelve wagons pass the prison, laden with dead
horses and mules, from the camps around Washington. From this alone one
can form an idea of the number of animals used up by the army.
_Friday, Feb. 6._--Colonel Doster, Provost-Marshal, paid a visit to the
prison to-night. He came into our room. On being asked by Mr. Hunter
concerning his case, he said: “Gentlemen, your cases have all been
decided by military governors.”
_Sunday, Feb. 8._--A great many ladies and gentlemen pass and repass
the prison, many merely from curiosity, perhaps, and the guards are
very vigilant to see that they exchange no signals or glances with
prisoners. This afternoon two ladies bowed to our window, and a
corporal was sent after them. He followed them about half a block, and
we could see him talking to them for some little time, but he came back
without them.
A little later, two old gentlemen stopped on the street opposite the
prison. One of them took from his pocket a small spy-glass, which he
applied to his eye and took a careful survey of the building, to the
great discomfort of the sentry, who called to him several times to pass
on. The old gentleman paid no attention to the call, and the sentry
asked the officer if he should arrest him. The old man then coolly put
up his glass, waved his hand and passed on.
[Illustration: COLONEL WILLIAM P. WOOD, SUPERINTENDENT]
To-day being Sunday, the superintendent, Mr. Wood,[B] went through the
prison, making the announcement at each door, that all who wished to
hear the Gospel according to Jeff Davis could go down to the yard,
where a Secesh preacher would give it to them (this was the Rev. Mr.
Landstreet, a Confederate chaplain, who is imprisoned here), and all
who wanted to hear the Lord God according to Abe Lincoln could be
accommodated in Room 16.
Mr. Wood professes to be an infidel, and therefore, while his partisan
feelings are very strong on the question of duty and devotion to the
Union cause, he is not disposed to view it from a Gospel standpoint.
I have heard, however, that he was born and baptized in the Catholic
Church, but left it, and in the days of Know-Nothingism became a
prominent leader in that party. I went down to the yard, not so much to
hear the reverend preacher (though my preference, if any, would have
led me to select him) as to enjoy a smoke and a social chat with some
of my friends from the other rooms.
_Monday, Feb. 9._--The Tenth New Jersey Regiment is the prison guard
here. Among them are many who combine the qualities of soldier and
gentleman, but there are some who lack both. The latter, I am glad to
say, are in the minority.
Last night before going to our bunks, we were shaking the coal stove.
The grate was choked and it was hard to rake out. A guard was sent up
to the room, and one said gruffly:
“What is all this noise about?”
“We are raking the stove,” said one of our party.
“No, you are not,” replied the fellow; “I know what you are doing--you
are dancing, and if I hear any more of it, some of you will get in the
guard house.” Being prisoners, we have to submit to this insolence.
This morning, as I was standing at the window looking out, I heard
the sentinel on the sidewalk under the window order a prisoner in the
next room to go from the window, or he would get a ball through him.
I was standing about a foot back from the bars when the sentry, an
ill-looking fellow, called out to me:
“Get away from that window.”
“I am not touching the bars,” said I. I had been told by prisoners long
confined in the Old Capitol that a prisoner was permitted to look out
of the window so long as he did not touch the bars.
“I will put a ball through you, damn you,” said the brute, at the same
time cocking his gun and aiming at me. As I thought the cowardly rascal
might shoot, and I would only be exposing myself foolishly, I drew back.
When I related this affair to a fellow-prisoner, Mr. Augustus
Williams, he told me that he was a prisoner in the Old Capitol at the
time young Wharton was shot, and his room was on the same floor.
It was either in the latter part of March or first of April, 1862,
that Jesse W. Wharton, a young man about twenty-five or twenty-six
years of age, son of Professor Wharton, of Prince George County, Md.,
was deliberately murdered by a man belonging to the 91st Pennsylvania
Regiment, then on guard duty at the prison. Wharton was standing at
the window of his room when the sentry called out to him: “Get away
from that window, or I will blow your damned head off.” Wharton turned
away, walked across the room and again stood at the window as before.
The guard, on seeing him, repeated his command, or words to the same
effect. Wharton, feeling that as he was violating no rule the guard
would not attempt to carry out his threat, paid no further attention,
but stood with his arms folded. The sentry (I cannot call him soldier)
fired, and the ball struck Wharton in the left hand, passed through
the right arm, breaking the bone of the elbow, entered the right side,
coming out near the spine. He staggered, and would have fallen, but
some of his fellow-prisoners caught him and lowered him gently to the
floor. He lingered for seven or eight hours. Before he died he called
for the lieutenant commanding the post, and when he came in, the dying
man said: “I am dying, and you are the man who caused my death.” He
said he heard the lieutenant give the man the order to fire.
Williams also mentioned another case, that of Harry Stewart, son of
Dr. Frederick Stewart, of Baltimore, a young man less than twenty-five
years of age. He had been to Richmond, and on his return was arrested
as a spy and sent to the Old Capitol. One of the sentinels, a member
of the 86th Regiment New York Volunteers, agreed for a bribe of fifty
dollars to allow him to escape by lowering himself from the window to
the pavement below. Stewart waited until the hour appointed, when this
particular sentry should be on guard. He then let himself out of the
window and was lowered but a few feet when the sentry cried, “Halt!”
and fired, the ball striking Stewart’s right leg, splintering the
knee-bone. He was quickly drawn up by his room-mates, and the prison
surgeon amputated the limb. The shock was too great, however, and he
died in a short time after the operation. The money (fifty dollars) was
found in his pocket, wrapped up in paper, upon which was written, “This
is the money I promised you.”
Augustus Williams, to whom I am indebted for these facts, is a citizen
of Fairfax County, Virginia. Living near Vienna, and being within
the Union lines, he was arrested and taken to the Old Capitol. There
being no charge against him, except refusal to take the oath, he
was released after a short term of imprisonment. Going back to his
home, he was again picked up by the first party of troops raiding in
his neighborhood, and returned to the Old Capitol. This occurred so
frequently that Superintendent Wood came to look upon him as a regular
visitor, and would greet him on his arrival with a handshake, and say:
“Hello, Gus; you’re back again. You couldn’t stay away from us very
long.”
“No,” he would reply. “You fellows treat me so well when I am here. And
then, it’s such a nice trip to go back home by way of Fortress Monroe
and Richmond.”
Some of the prisoners who have gone out recently are suspected of
having purchased their freedom at a cash valuation.
A man named George Hammett was brought in on Saturday night with
a number of prisoners. He was captured on the Potomac River, and
is charged with attempting to run the blockade. He was called down
from the room this morning, and on his return said that he told
Superintendent Wood he was willing to take the oath. Wood told him that
hereafter no one would be released on simply taking the oath; that he
might be released on payment of a sum of money--from one to six hundred
dollars. These blockade runners, I suppose, are thought to have money,
and this, no doubt, is but a plan to extort money from them.
Emanuel Weiler was released to-day. He was taken with Aaron J. King on
charge of carrying contraband goods.
_Tuesday, Feb. 10._--This morning two ladies passing the building bowed
to prisoners at our window. A guard was sent out and brought them in.
They were released after fifteen or twenty minutes’ detention, Brave
soldiers! How fortunate the weather continues cool so that the ladies
cannot _bare_ arms, as it might interfere with the prison arrangements,
making it necessary to double the guard in order to insure the safe
keeping of the prisoners and protect our timorous guards.
After dinner a guard came into the room and escorted me down before
Captain Parker, who told me to take a seat, while he proceeded to look
over a paper he held in his hand.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“I have resided in this city for the past seven or eight years,” I
answered.
“Where were you born?”
[Illustration: _James Williamson_
From picture taken in 1861]
“I was born in Baltimore and lived there until I came to Washington.”
“What is your occupation?”
“Printer; but since November I have been engaged in a bookstore on
Seventh Street.”
“You have been South during the war?”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I was employed at Ritchie & Dunnavant’s.” (Ritchie & Dunnavant did the
printing for the State and Confederate governments).
“Do you know Henry Howe?”
“I do, sir.”
“Did you ever have any difficulty with him?”
“I did. Mr. Howe and a man named Daniels came to Richmond while I was
there. They took board at a house kept by Mrs. Graves, on Franklin
Street, where I was boarding. On the night of July 3d or 4th, I had
a sum of money stolen from my pockets. Mr. Howe and his friend slept
in the room adjoining mine. The door between the rooms was left open,
while the doors leading from the rooms into the hall were locked. The
pants, in the pockets of which I had the money, were hung on a hook
near the door, and in the morning the money was gone. Mr. Howe had
been boarding in the house for about five weeks without paying any
board. That morning he and his friend Daniels left and went to another
boarding-house. Before leaving, Howe told Mrs. Graves he would not take
his baggage away until he paid her all he owed. He put his clothes in
Daniels’ trunk, and they left with one trunk. The next day Daniels
came to me and said: ‘Howe has stolen your money. You know, he had
none before he left, and now he has plenty, and he is lying in a beer
house on Main Street, drunk.’ I took Daniels to a detective, to whom he
repeated this story. The detective arrested Howe. He was kept in prison
for about a week. When brought before the Mayor of Richmond (Joseph
Mayo) for final examination, the Mayor said:
“‘I am confident one of you two men took that money, but as there are
two of you, it is possible one may be innocent, therefore I am obliged
to release you both. But I will give you twenty-four hours to leave the
city, and if you do not leave within that time I will have you arrested
under this act (reading them the vagrant act) and put to work in the
chain-gang.’”