days ago he asked Wood to give him a parole. Wood refused, and said no
paroles would be granted. Phillips said a man who was confined under
similar circumstances to himself had been given a parole on the day his
vessel was to be sold. Soon after this interview I saw Phillips and
Wood running around the yard, both much excited. Phillips said, “Come
on; I will show you the man.” Wood said, “Go on; I’ll prove either you
or him to be a liar.” When Phillips found the man, Wood was not to be
found.
A day or two after this, Phillips was going into the office to pay the
clerk, Mr. Drew, for a pair of spectacles, when Wood, who was in the
office at the time, called out to him in a rough manner, and Phillips
went out and closed the door. When he got to his room a guard came
up and took him to the guard house, from which he was only released
to-day. Wood said he had not intended to keep him there so long, but
had forgotten him.
How faithfully does history repeat itself. How many unfortunates
have been arrested, thrown into prison, and their accusers having
accomplished their object in placing them in durance, cared no more
about them, and their jailers were totally indifferent in the matter.
Wood said the principal cause for his punishment was the indifference
with which Phillips appeared to treat him.
_Sunday, Feb. 22._--I was told there are over five hundred prisoners
here now. When those in our room were counted last night there were
found to be thirty-four. A number of _fresh fish_ have been brought in
since my return.
Sixty-two prisoners were brought here from Camp Chase. Some have been
imprisoned for fifteen months. About twenty of them have no charge
against them except refusal to take the oath.
Goldsmith said that while he was in the guard house a Union soldier was
put in who was drunk and noisy, and the lieutenant came in, slapped him
in the face and kicked him several times.
One of my fellow-prisoners is an old gentleman from Virginia, named
John B. Hunter. He is over sixty years of age. He is detained without
any charge whatever, but as a hostage for a man named Stiles, who has
made himself notorious as a spy and detective, and by acting as guide
in piloting raiding parties through Virginia. Mr. Hunter was called
down last night by Captain Parker, who told him information had been
received that Stiles had been released, and that he, too, would be
released. That he could leave the prison then or wait until to-day. He
has been in prison forty-two days altogether, and his health is now
very poor.
Another of my room-mates is John Carr, of Fauquier County, Va.; he is
a widower, who was about to be married. As he was journeying on to the
home of his intended bride, where all the preparations had been made
for the approaching nuptials, he was rudely seized by a scouting party
and landed here in the Old Capitol. He has been unfortunate in his
matrimonial ventures. He was married to his second wife a few years
before the war, and started on a bridal tour through some of the
Western States. It happened that the cholera was raging at the time in
some parts of the West, and while going down the Mississippi River on
a steamboat his wife was suddenly taken ill with cholera and died on
the boat. The passengers became frightened and put him ashore with the
dead body of his wife at a desolate spot on the banks of the river, at
night and in a heavy storm. He was compelled to remain there through
the long, dreary night, sitting beside the corpse, holding a blanket
over it to protect it from the rain, and keep the wind from blowing
away the covering. The splash of the water, the puffing and snorting of
the boats on the river, with the shrill blast of their whistles or the
bellowing of their signals in passing each other, found an echo in the
moaning and shrieking of the angry wind. These mingled sounds to the
sad watcher in his lonely vigil seemed a requiem for the dead.
_Tuesday, Feb. 24._--Three of the prisoners brought in last Saturday
were Italians--Peter Eorio, Raphael Rinaldi and Marco Comastri. They
appear to be very intelligent men, and I have derived much pleasure
from conversing with them. They have been in this country about three
years. Living in the South, and wishing to return to their native
country, they asked and received permission from the Confederate
authorities to pass through the lines; having first procured
certificates to the effect that they were citizens of Italy and as to
their intentions. On their arrival in Washington they were arrested and
brought to this place.
To-day the Commission appointed to try political prisoners commenced
their sittings.
Fourteen prisoners were sent off to-day upon taking the oath. Quite a
number have been released lately by so doing. Many of them say they do
not regard the oath--that it is unconstitutional, unlawful, and not in
any sense binding.[F]
_Wednesday, Feb. 25._--This morning one of the negroes in the breakfast
room accused a prisoner of taking two pieces of bread instead of one,
which is supposed to be one man’s portion. Although the man denied
having done so, the negro persisted in saying he had, and the man was
put in the guard house.
Peter and John Flaherty were called before Parker. They are British
subjects and are provided with British protection. They had been at
work for some time in Richmond, and were on their way North when
arrested. Parker asked them why they left Richmond. “Thinking to do
better, sir,” promptly replied Peter. They were released with the
injunction to leave the city within forty-eight hours.
_Thursday, Feb. 26._--Three more prisoners brought into our
room--twenty-nine now in all. Some Yankee sutlers were brought in
lately. They are very bitter in denouncing the Federal Government.
It is rumored an attempt will be made by some of the prisoners to
escape. The matter was talked over to-day in our room. Many plans were
suggested as being feasible and attended with but little danger. One
said it would be an easy matter, when we were out in the yard, and the
wagon came in to deliver bread, for the prisoners to make a rush for
the gate, and before the gate could be closed quite a number could get
out.
“But the guards would fire on us, and some of us would be killed,” said
Fax Minor.
“Of course,” was the reply, “somebody might be shot--perhaps killed. We
must expect that. But many would get away safely.”
“Yes, that is all true,” returned Fax; “but just suppose there was only
one killed, and that one was poor Fax--what then?”
A noticeable character in the prison yard at one time during the
half-hour allowed for recreation was a Hebrew named Fleggenheimer. He
was captured while attempting to run the blockade on the Potomac, and
his goods confiscated. Like Rachel of old, he would not be comforted,
but was continually bewailing his loss. One of my room-mates, John
Pentz, of Baltimore, finding that sympathy only added fuel to the fire
of his distress, sought to divert his thoughts into another channel by
bantering him.
“Oh, Sledgehammer” (as Pentz was accustomed to call him), “don’t worry;
you’ll soon be out of this place, and it won’t take you long to make up
what you lost.”
“Ah, but, Mr. Benty, I lose more ash five t’ousand dollars.”
“Well, you can get that back in the profit of one good trip.”
“And den it vash all borrowed monish.”
“Then that is so much the better--_you_ won’t lose anything.”
“Oh, you don’t know all, Mr. Benty. My poor wife, she yust git a leetle
baby, unt ven she hear dis it makes her right down stone dead.”
From conversations had with Western prisoners, I judge there is more
intense bitterness of feeling in the West, particularly in Missouri and
Kentucky, than in the Eastern border section. One old Missourian in our
room said he was from Schuyler County, and had been in prison since the
12th of August. That one of the prisoners in the Court House, named
Ford, was shot with a pistol by one of the guards.
He said the Union men were called “Sheepskins,” and they perpetrated
the most villainous outrages. That on one occasion a party arrested
a man, and while carrying him through the village, some little boys
playing marbles, cried out: “Here comes the militia,” and ran away. One
of the “Sheepskins” fired into the crowd of children and killed a boy
twelve years old. They picked the child up, carried him to his home,
and threw him in the door to his mother, saying: “Here is one we’ve
kept from growing up to be a damned Secesh.”
Another man told me he was in prison with some of the men who were
executed by General McNeil. He said he was playing cards with Wade
when he was called out. Wade put down his cards, saying he knew he was
called out to be killed. There was among the doomed men one old man
with a large and helpless family. A brave young hero volunteered to
take the old man’s place, saying he had none to leave behind to regret
him or feel the loss. He was accepted. His savage executioners, dumb to
this noble exhibition of heroism and self-sacrifice, sent him off on
his coffin with the others.
I afterward learned the facts concerning this brutal tragedy:
In the Fall of 1862, the Confederates, under Colonel James Porter,
captured the town of Palmyra, and during their occupancy a man named
Andrew Allsman, an ex-soldier of the Third Missouri Cavalry (said to
have been a spy), disappeared.
After the Confederates evacuated the town and McNeil returned, he
learned of the abduction of Allsman, and thereupon issued a notice,
that unless Allsman was returned within ten days he would retaliate
upon the Rebel prisoners then in his hands. At the expiration of the
ten days, ten prisoners then in his custody: Willis Baker, Thomas
Humston, Morgan Bixler, and John Y. McPheeters, of Lewis County;
Herbert Hutson, John M. Wade and Marion Lair, of Ralls County; Captain
Thomas A. Sidner, Monroe County; Eleazer Lake, Scotland County, and
Hiram Smith, Knox County, were selected--ten men, to give up their
lives for one man _missing_.
Three Government wagons drove to the jail, with ten rough board
coffins. The condemned men were taken from the prison, seated upon
their coffins in the wagons, and driven to the place of execution--the
Fair Ground. There the coffins were arranged in a row, six or eight
feet apart. Thirty soldiers of the Second Missouri State Militia were
drawn up in line facing the coffins. The ten men knelt upon the grass
between the coffins. A prayer was offered up by Rev. R. M. Rhoades,
and the prisoners each took his seat upon the foot of his coffin. Two
accepted bandages; the others refused. The officer in command then
stepped forward and gave the command: “Ready--aim--fire!” Two of the
prisoners fell backward upon their coffins, dead. Captain Sidner sprang
forward and fell with his face to the soldiers, and died immediately.
He had requested the soldiers to aim at his heart. The other seven were
not killed, and the reserves were called and put an end to their lives
with their revolvers.
Among the Camp Chase prisoners are three little boys, their ages
ranging from ten to fourteen. I saw one in the yard to-day. The men
called him “John Morgan’s Orderly.” He was dressed in gray and seemed
a shrewd, bright little fellow. He told me he was fourteen years of
age. That he had been with John Morgan, and was captured while carrying
a letter from General John C. Breckenridge to General John Morgan. He
said he had been in prison thirteen months.
The second boy was held on charges similar to the one first mentioned.
The third, and youngest, says he does not know why he was arrested, or
why he was brought here.
_Friday, Feb. 27._--Boyd Barrett and others, ill with smallpox, were
removed in ambulances to-day.
Messrs. Ayre, Carr, and Brawner were called to-day and the oath offered
them. They refused to take it and were marked for exchange.
It is said one of the prison officials was going around the yard last
night, dressed in Confederate uniform, endeavoring, by offering bribes,
to test the fidelity of the guards.
_Saturday, Feb. 28._--I slept but little last night. Some prisoners who
were put in the room were very noisy, and I was cold. I had one sheet
and one blanket, and I had to take my overcoat for a covering. When I
got warmed up, the mice became lively and commenced a game of tag. They
appear to think it fine fun chasing one another under the board pillow
at my head, and then running over my bunk and crawling about through
the folds of my blanket. When I shake them off they scamper away, only
to return when they see I am quiet again.
There is also a large force of bedbugs in the room, and they send out
detachments and raiding parties to all the different bunks, and draw
their full supply of rations from the occupants. Sometimes we get
together and have a round-up, and a promiscuous slaughter, regardless
of age or sex. But they must recruit from the other side, like the
Yankee army, as we can notice no diminution in the forces. I suppose,
like the poor, we will always have them with us.
Owing to the dirty and overcrowded condition of the building, we have
another pest in the shape of an insect, smaller than the one just
mentioned, but equally bloodthirsty, who makes his presence felt, and
has reduced us to such a condition that we have to scratch for a living.
This morning, while standing near the window, I saw two little boys,
ten or twelve years of age, standing on the street corner, opposite the
prison. They were looking down the street and did not hear the guard
calling to them to leave the corner. Presently a corporal was sent
over and the children, now in the act of moving on, were arrested and
brought into the prison. I stood at the window for some time, but I did
not see them pass out.
Six prisoners brought into our room to-day. Thirty-seven now in the
room, with bunks for twenty-one; the balance sleep on the floor as best
they can. At night the floor is completely taken up by sleeping men, so
we can only walk the floor by stepping over them. They roll themselves
in their blankets and go to sleep.
Frank Thornton released on parole to-day. John Pentz went out at night.
A man in Room 15 threw a piece of bread out of the window into
the street. In consequence of this, all the inmates of the room,
twenty-eight in number, were confined to the room during the half-hour
usually allowed for recreation, and put on bread and water diet--two
pieces of bread being allowed them daily.
_Monday, March 2._--Commission in session to-day.
The surgeon came in and made inquiries as to the number in our room,
etc. Thirty-nine in room--beds for twenty-one. Call for all who desire
to be vaccinated to come into the hospital.
In the dull uniformity of prison life every trifling event which
breaks the monotony and diverts the attention, for the time, from
the unpleasant reality of our situation is seized upon and becomes a
subject of conversation. To-day a drove of mules was passing the prison
on their way to some of the camps or corrals, and this brought out a
number of stories illustrating peculiar traits or features of that
useful and much-abused creature--the mule.
“When the Confederate army was encamped at Manassas,” said Bennett,
“after the battle of Bull Run, the mules, being fastened to the wagons
by their halters, after eating their supply of provender, would start
in, biting and chewing the feed-boxes and wagon bodies. They were not
satisfied with the quantity of long-feed that was dealt out to them and
sought to make good the deficiency by chewing up the wagons. To prevent
the total demolition of wagons, details of men were sent out daily
to cut and bring in loads of hoop-poles for belly-timber, as Bennett
termed it. These were spread out before the mules who no doubt found
the wood in its crude state as appetizing as when fashioned into wagons
or feed-boxes.”
“An old friend of mine, Dr. Green,” said John Carr, “was at one time
induced to purchase a lot of mules. They were sold at a sacrifice,
and knowing there was a constant demand for mules in army circles, he
flattered himself that he had been cut out for a sharp trader, but had
always before that time missed his opportunity; that he had made a
good investment, and now having the long-delayed opportunity, he would
surely get all there was in it. So when he had paid his money he patted
himself on the back--figuratively--in a patronizing manner and turned a
round dozen well-conditioned mules into his pasture.
“In this field where he had put the mules his riding-horse was
accustomed to graze. A close intimacy sprang up between the mules and
the horse. On Sunday, when Dr. Green brought up his horse in order to
attend service at the village church, he noticed a commotion among the
mules, but paid no further attention to them.
“While riding to church with his wife, however, he heard a noise on the
road behind them, a tramping of hoofs, with a nickering and braying.
Soon the mules came in sight, frisking about and apparently delighted
to overtake their newly-found friend and comrade, the horse. They
refused to be sent back, and the Doctor and his wife rode into town to
church at the head of a drove of mules.”
_Tuesday, March 3._--Last night about midnight I was awakened by a
noise and great commotion in the building. A man in the adjoining room
cried out lustily, “Fire! Fire!” Then there was a knocking at the
doors. The flames were breaking out through a board partition which
cuts off a portion of our room, making an entry to the adjoining room.
The fire had not gained much headway, however, and a little water soon
extinguished it. For a time there was great confusion and excitement.
The guard at the door, as soon as he was aware of the fact, cried out
“Corporal of the guard, Post No. 5--Fire!” Then the word was passed
from sentinel to sentinel, until it rang through the building. Men
were jumping out of their bunks, hastily putting on their clothes,
some cursing, calling for things they were unable to find--“Where’s my
pants?” “Where’s my boots?” In the confusion one man would grab up an
article belonging to another--often a misfit. I lay quietly in my bunk
for a while. I felt there could be little danger from fire occurring
in the rooms occupied by either the prisoners or guards; for if by any
mischance a fire should break out, it would soon be discovered and
quickly extinguished. Or, if in the outhouse or kitchen, they, being
small buildings, the fire could be put out before it communicated to
the main building--the prison itself.
At the time of the greatest excitement one man said: “Look out of the
window and see the light. The building is on fire.” When this light was
found to proceed from the rising moon, it had a quieting effect on the
panic. A sergeant came in with a light and searched around to find out
how the fire originated. After this a lieutenant with a few privates
came in under arms, and examined thoroughly and questioned, but no one
appeared to know how it started. If the fire had progressed to any
great extent before discovery, no doubt many of the prisoners would
have escaped as it would have been impossible for the guards to have
kept in check the large number of prisoners now in the building.
_Wednesday, March 4._--Congress adjourned to-day. From the prison
window we saw the flag lowered.
At night Superintendent Wood came to the door and called me out of the
room. He walked over and sat at the foot of the stairs in the big hall
leading to the floor above, and told me to sit down beside him. He
asked me where I belonged. I said:
“I am a citizen of Washington. This is my home.”
“What were you doing South?” asked Wood.
“Working at my business.”
“Where did you work?”
“At Ritchie & Dunnavant’s.”
“What kind of work was done there?”
“They did the State printing and a portion of the Government work.”
“When did you go South?”
“Just before the commencement of hostilities.”
“How did you get back?”
“I came across the Potomac River.”
“You didn’t bring any letters, or anything of that kind?”
“No; I brought nothing but my wife and children.”
“Are you willing to take an oath to support the Government?”
“No, sir.”
“Then we will have to send you back South.”
I said, “Mr. Wood, I am in your hands, a prisoner, and powerless to
resist. I am obliged to submit to whatever disposition you may make of
me.”
“A couple of gentlemen called to see me about you,” said Mr. Wood, “and
I am anxious to do all I can for you. You know that this city is in a
special manner under the care and jurisdiction of the President and
Congress, and if you are a citizen of this place you ought to submit to
the law.”
“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.