Parker.
“No, sir,” I replied.
“Would you take an oath to this government?”
“No, sir; I would not.”
“That is very strange. That you will not take an oath to support a
government under whose flag you live and which protects you. And you
born in Maryland, a loyal State, as she has proved to be by the vote of
her people.”
As I was a prisoner in his hands, I knew it would be folly on my part
to enter into an argument on this question, but I said:
“I will not take an oath of allegiance. You take an oath of office
which is binding on you so long as you hold office, but you ask me to
take an oath of perpetual allegiance--‘_at any and all times hereafter,
and under all circumstances_.’ You have shown no act of mine to prove
me disloyal, and I think you have no right to demand such oath.”
“Your refusal to take the oath is sufficient proof of your disloyalty.
How long have you been here, sir?”
“A week last Saturday. I was arrested and brought here, and have not
been able to learn either the name of my accuser or the nature of the
accusation.”
“I will inform you, then, that Mr. Howe is the principal witness
against you. I have done with you for to-day, sir.”
I then left him and went back to my room. Here one man is judge, jury
and witness.
There are a number of men here in close confinement. We can see them as
they are taken out in the yard daily in charge of a guard. None of the
other prisoners are allowed to speak to them.
I have been fascinated with the reading of Byron’s “Prisoner of
Chillon” and with Dumas’ picture of the “Man With the Iron Mask,” of
the mysteries and miseries of the Bastile, and the wretched prisoners
who were immured within its dismal walls. I have felt my blood tingle
when I read of men who had not been convicted of any crime, and, in
some instances, who had committed no crime, yet had been confined for
years--often uncared for and forgotten, under the infamous system
of the _lettre de cachet_. I regarded them mostly as sensational
stories--as fiction--but here the picture is faithfully copied--the
_lettre de cachet_, the prison, the murder--all here in the stern
reality.
Many persons confined here were arrested, robbed of everything they
possessed, and kept merely on suspicion for weeks, and even months,
without examination or trial, and sometimes, after an examination and
no proof of charges, being still detained.
The occupants of the rooms on the same floor with Room 16 (Rooms 14,
15 and 18), are mostly farmers from Virginia, living either within
the Union lines or on disputed territory. Because of their refusal to
take the oath of allegiance, they are arrested and brought to the Old
Capitol. They were robbed of their personal property, their negroes run
off, and in many instances their houses and farm buildings destroyed.
Among the prisoners with me in Room 16 is an old gentleman named Henry
Love. He and his son Llewellyn are both prisoners. The old gentleman
seems completely broken down. In telling me the story of his treatment,
he said:
“I kept a hotel, and also farmed, near Dumfries, Virginia. I had a farm
of 200 acres, all under cultivation, except about 25 acres in wood. My
house was taken by Federal troops and used as a hospital, leaving me
only three rooms for myself and family. They killed seventeen head of
cattle, some of the finest cows you ever saw; my stock was all choice
breeds. One cow, with her second calf, was killed, her hindquarters cut
off, and the balance, with the calf, left to rot. They killed forty
hogs, took two of my best horses, Black Hawks, killed all my poultry;
took two stacks of hay, two entire crops of corn, wheat and oats,
and two hundred and seventy pounds of bacon. They destroyed all my
shrubbery and fences. My place is now as bare as the palm of your hand.”
He was afterward taken prisoner, then released on parole, but is now
again under arrest. He was called before Parker, who told him there
were no charges against him, but as he was a Secessionist he would have
to keep him for a while.
Another is James Johnson, of Clarke County, Virginia, who was taken
from his home by a raiding party. He was robbed of everything, his
horse stolen, and he has been kept a prisoner for two months. He is
sick all the time; appears to be in an advanced stage of consumption.
Mr. Redmond Brawner, who lived at Manassas, lost everything, and he,
with his family, were compelled to become refugees. He was arrested,
and is now a prisoner here.
Mr. James F. Kerfoot, of Millwood, Clarke County, Virginia, when
arrested was buying cattle for the Confederate Government. He had in
his possession $18,000 belonging to the Government and $400 of his own
money. He was stripped of everything.
Another of my room-mates is Mr. George S. Ayre, of Loudoun County,
Virginia. At the outbreak of the war he was a wealthy farmer and
cattle dealer. He owned one of the finest improved farms in the
county and slaves enough to cultivate it. The army under General
Geary camped in the neighborhood of his farm, and one day loaded up
twenty-six four-horse wagons with corn and provender, and in return the
quartermaster gave receipts. Since then he has suffered at the hands of
raiding parties, and now is arrested and imprisoned here.
[Mr. Ayre was released a short time before I was and returned to
his home. In the Fall of 1863, General Hunter threatened Lynchburg,
where Mr. Ayre had a quantity of tobacco stored. Fearing it might be
destroyed, he went South, disposed of it, and started for home with
the proceeds of the sale. When near James City, in Culpeper County,
he met a scouting party from Meade’s army, who first carried him to
headquarters and then to Washington, where the Provost-Marshal took
from him his money, amounting to $80,000 in Virginia money, a $1,000
bond, and some valuable papers, and held him as a hostage for a
Captain Samuel Steers, who was captured by Mosby’s men. He was held a
prisoner for nine months.
His slaves all remained with him, and he continued to cultivate his
land, consequently he had good crops on hand in November, 1864, when
General Sheridan sent his forces into Loudoun to destroy crops and
property in his futile efforts to drive out Mosby and his men, who
continued to occupy the same ground until after the surrender of
General Lee. Mr. Ayre then had three crops of wheat in the stack. The
Union troops burned 8,000 bushels of wheat, 130 tons of hay, 70 acres
of corn in the shock, a new barn with all his machinery and farming
implements, and drove off 80 fine improved sheep.[C]
After the war he put in a claim, through his Representative in
Congress, endeavoring to recover something for these losses, but his
claim was bandied about from committee to committee, and from Congress
to the Court of Claims, while the poor old man, now in his 93d year,
penniless and broken in health, is unable to get a cent from the
Government in return.]
_Wednesday, Feb. 11._--We received some newspapers to-day, and in them
I see it stated that Captain Wynne escaped from the Old Capitol Prison
on Monday night last, by breaking out a panel of his door. This no
doubt gave rise to the ghost story which was going the rounds of the
prison at that time, of the ghost without a head who frightened the
wits out of some of the sentries.
I heard a great commotion in the prison to-day, and as the noise
approached nearer and grew more distinct, I could detect the cry of
“Fresh fish! Fresh fish!” which I was afterward told announced the
arrival of a fresh lot of prisoners. Among them were a number of
blockade runners--eleven white and six negroes. Two of the whites were
put in our room. At the advent of a new prisoner, the old ones gather
around, anxious to hear the latest news from the outside world.
Captain Thomas Phillips had an interview with Captain Parker to-day. He
was sentenced to three months’ imprisonment.
Phillips was captain of a vessel captured while attempting to run the
blockade into Wilmington, N. C. His clothes and money, together with
his quadrant and charts, were all taken from him.
Blockade running is a dangerous but, when successful, a very profitable
business. Of the few ports of the Southern Confederacy used for running
the blockade, that of Wilmington, N. C., is the one most frequently
chosen, from the fact of there being two entrances, or channels,
leading into the Cape Fear River, on which the city of Wilmington is
situated, the south entrance being protected by Fort Fisher and Fort
Caswell; the north, or new inlet, by Fort Fisher and a small land
battery.
[One of the strongest inducements for running the blockade was the
enormous value of cotton outside of the Confederacy. A vessel laden
with provisions, medical stores, arms and munitions of war for the
Confederate Government, effecting an entrance, discharging her load
and taking in a return cargo of cotton, which would perhaps yield a
profit of five or six hundred per cent., if successful in evading the
blockading squadron, would certainly furnish a strong incentive for
other daring adventurers to take the risk of a voyage.
The high rate of wages paid to master and crew was always a sufficient
inducement to secure a complement of hardy and efficient men for the
enterprise.]
Three ladies called at the prison to-day. After they left the building,
one of them looked up, and seeing some of the prisoners at the window,
bowed to them. The guard called out to the corporal, who started a
soldier after them. He pursued them down the street, but returned
shortly after, saying they refused to return with him. Of course, we
were all pleased with the result.
_Thursday, Feb. 12._--Our time is spent in reading, when we have
anything to read; card playing, dominoes, or checkers. Newspapers we
get occasionally. Some devote much of their time to smoking, others to
relating stories of adventures, with an occasional song and dance.
Among the songs is one, written before my advent into this, my prison
home, by some one, of whose name even I am ignorant; but being a
picture of our prison life, as well as a faithful expression of the
sentiments cherished at the time in the breasts of many who dared not
give them utterance outside of these prison walls, without the risk of
punishment or exile, I give it here entire and unaltered.
SONG.
Air--Villikins and His Dinah.
All persons confined in the Capitol jail
Must know that _habeas corpus_ shall never avail
In taking them hence, for ’twas lately decreed
That laws are denied to all men of our creed.
_Chorus_
So let’s be contented, whatever may come,
We’ll live upon hope in the absence of rum;
And in water we’ll drink, when affected with drought,
A health to old Jeff and success to the South.
Now, this one advantage ’tis ours to claim--
Though prisoners in fact, yet proud of that name;
While others their statutes pull down from their shelves
We legally make other laws for ourselves.
_Chorus_
Abe Lincoln, full gorged with imperial power,
Destroying the work of long years in an hour,
Makes anarchy reign, heaping sin upon sin,
Whilst we are establishing order within.
_Chorus_
On the streets, in the halls where the multitude throng,
To speak certain things is essentially wrong,
But here we’re more free, be it spoken or sung;
There’s a lock on the door, but no lock on the tongue.
_Chorus_
Outside, if you drill with a stick for a gun,
You are called a vile Rebel, and treated as one;
But here we’ve a barrack in every room,
In lieu of a gun, we disport with a broom.
_Chorus_
We’re healthy within, but there’s danger without,
For wherever you turn there’s a gun at your snout,
But here we’re as safe as a bug in a rug,
And the adage is false, “There’s death in a jug.”
_Chorus_
But heed not the twaddle of tyrants and knaves;
Though they the laws make, they cannot make us slaves;
Unheeding the wrong and maintaining the right,
We’ll stick to our creed to the end of the fight.
_Chorus_
OLD CAPITOL PRISON, _Washington_, 1862.
This would be one feature of the program, with “Maryland, My Maryland,”
“Dixie,” “The Bonnie Blue Flag,” and a song, the chorus of which
ran--“Ain’t You Glad You’re Out of the Wilderness?” but which a
few months later was changed to “Ol’ Joe Hooker, Come Out of the
Wilderness.”
When the singing would lag a little, Fax Minor, on whom the sound of
music or singing caused a contraction and extension of the muscles,
producing an effect like pulling the strings of a supple-jack, would
jump up and execute a regular plantation break-down.
Some of our room-mates were gifted with good voices, which, though
untrained or uncultivated, were pleasing to the ear, and, combined with
the sentiment of the songs, had an inspiring effect on the listeners,
like the strains of martial music on the lagging footsteps of the
marching soldier.
One day as they were singing “Maryland, My Maryland,” Gus Williams,
getting up from a bench near the stove, where he sat whittling a stick,
advanced toward the group of singers and said:
“You boys sing that well, but I’ve heard ‘My Maryland’ sung here in the
old building in a way that would make you feel like jumping out of the
window and swimming across the Potomac. When Belle Boyd was here I was
on the same floor. She would sing that song as if her very soul was in
every word she uttered. It used to bring a lump up in my throat every
time I heard it. It seemed like my heart was ready to jump out--as if
I could put my finger down and touch it. I’ve seen men, when she was
singing, walk off to one side and pull out their handkerchiefs and wipe
their eyes, for fear some one would see them doing the baby act.
“She left soon after I came in. I was glad to know that she was
released, but we all missed her. Even some of the Yankees, although
they would not show it while she was here; but when she was sent away
they missed her sweet singing--Rebel songs though they were. One of
them told me it made him feel sad to hear her sing.
“And on Sundays, when there was preaching down in the yard, she would
be allowed to come down and sit near the preacher. If you could only
have seen how the fellows would try to get near her as she passed. And
if she gave them a look or a smile, it did them more good than the
preaching. You wouldn’t hear a cuss word from any of them for a week,
even if one of the guards would swear at them or threaten them.”[D]
_Friday, Feb. 13._--George Hammett, Davis, Gardner and George were
released this afternoon upon taking the oath.
_Saturday, Feb. 14._--A number of prisoners were brought in to-day.
There are said to be 450 prisoners here at present, the greater portion
of them being citizens.
Last night I was awakened by hearing an unusual commotion throughout
the building. This morning there were a number of prisoners in the
guard house. It is said that Captain Darling and George Adreon escaped.
The sentinel was bribed, and a greater number would have escaped but
for the indiscretion of the prisoners. They were so jubilant at the
prospect of getting out, that they had some whiskey sneaked into the
room and treated the sentinel. They made him drunk, so that he had
to be taken off post, and he was put in the guard house. The new man
being ignorant of the deal made with his comrade, the whole scheme
failed. There is a standing order to sentinels on each floor to
allow not more than two men to leave their rooms at a time. Trusting
to their arrangement with the sentry, the prisoners who were in the
plot would leave singly on this night, at slight intervals, until
the guards, seeing so many more going out than the rules permitted,
became suspicious and reported their suspicions. Consequently, as each
prisoner left his room and went down stairs, he was quietly taken to
the guard house, until the number of absentees from the rooms became so
numerous the prisoners themselves grew suspicious, and the exodus was
stopped.
It is an easy matter to get whiskey here. A bright young contraband,
whose ebony face gives proof of the purity of his Congo blood, comes
into our room every morning to remove the ashes and refuse. For a
trifling sum Charlie will bring in two flasks of whiskey in the breast
pockets of his coat, and afterward take back the empty flasks. Many of
the prison guards are ready to do the same when asked.
Mr. James Fullerton came to see me to-day. He told me my wife went to
the Provost-Marshal’s office last Tuesday and asked for a pass to visit
me, but was refused.
_Sunday, Feb. 15._--Stephen R. Mount, of Loudoun County, Virginia, aged
sixty-eight, was put in our room to-day. There is another old gentleman
here, named Randolph, aged seventy-five. He is also from Virginia.
An order was issued to-day that no more singing of Rebel songs will be
tolerated. Also, that any prisoner bowing or otherwise noticing persons
passing on the street, will be put in the guard house.
There are no printed rules for our guidance placed where they can be
seen, and no official instructions as to how we are to act, or to whom
we shall make known our necessities. A knowledge can only be gained
from conversing with prisoners who have been a long time in the prison,
or from actual observation, or from seeing punishment inflicted upon
some poor wretch for a violation of an unwritten law. One can only do
as you see others do, and if you blindly follow a willful or ignorant
transgressor, you must take the punishment of a guilty person.
The daily routine may be summed up as follows:
The first call in the morning is when the door is thrown open and
breakfast announced. All in the room then scamper down to the yard and
into the mess-room already described.
About nine o’clock the door is again opened and a voice shouts in tones
loud enough to be heard by all, “Sick Call.” Then all who have need of
medicine or treatment go to the hospital, located in a two-story wooden
building, an extension of the main building, and reached by a flight of
steps leading up from the prison yard.
The next sensation is the dinner call. This gives the prisoners a
half-hour, most of which, if not all, is spent in the yard. The
yard is about one hundred feet square, partly paved with bricks or
cobble-stones.[E] On the side of this yard, extending from this wooden
building occupied as sutler’s shop, mess-room and hospital, and running
back to the gate, is a one-story stone building in which are the cook
house, guard house and wash house. Back of this building are the sinks
used by the prisoners. These are wide trenches with a long wooden rail
in front, after the manner of the trenches in the camps, except that
when those in the camps become offensive they are filled in with earth
and new ones dug. The presence of these sinks, used for months by
several hundred men, it may be safely said, did not contribute to the
beauty of the scenery or add sweetness to the tainted air. Any further
description, I think, is better left to the imagination than expressed
in words.
[Illustration: STOVE WHICH STOOD IN CENTER OF ROOM 16]
After returning to our rooms there is another lull until supper-time,
when we enjoy the freedom of the prison yard until it is rudely broken
into by the gruff voice of the sergeant: “Time’s up. Go to your rooms.”
Next comes the roll-call, when the prisoners are lined up in their
respective rooms to answer to their names as called.
Lastly, taps is sounded, by the guard marching through the halls and
calling out at the doors of the rooms: “Lights out.” At this warning
cry every light must be extinguished, and the prisoners are compelled
to go to their bunks or sit in the dark. And here is where our rusty
fat pork, saved by us from the mess-room table, is made do good service.
One night we sat around the stove, with a quantity of this over-rich
food, contributed by the inmates of our room, one of whom sat in front
of the stove and threw in piece by piece as it burned away. This shed a
light over the room, and it was seen by the sentry pacing his beat in
front of the building. He called out “Corporal of the guard, Post No.
1.”
In a few minutes the sound of approaching footsteps was heard in the
hall outside, the door was thrown open and a corporal with guard
entered.
“What are you doing with a light here?” said he.
“We have no light here,” was the reply.
“You have,” said the corporal, “we can see it plainly from the street.”
“Oh, that is only a piece of fat meat we threw in the stove.”
The corporal, although he saw the flickering remains through the open
stove door, marched away with an incredulous and unsatisfied air.
_Tuesday, Feb. 17._--Captain Parker called me down this afternoon. He
told me he had received a letter from Mr. James Fullerton, stating
that my wife was ill, and my eldest child very ill with dropsy after
scarlet fever. He said that under the circumstances he would grant me
a parole for one day only, to see them. I was accordingly released to
report to Superintendent Wood at five o’clock to-morrow. On reaching
home, I found my son Henry lying ill, delirious, and so changed I could
scarcely recognize him.
_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.