were brought in. They came from St. Louis direct; they are mostly
soldiers. They have been in prison--some one, others three and five
months. With regard to the soldiers this is a violation of the cartel
by the United States authorities. The cartel of exchange provides that
prisoners of war be discharged on parole within ten days after capture.
These expect to be exchanged about the 16th of this month. They were
brought through Baltimore, arriving in this city last night, and were
crowded in a place which, from the description given, I judge to be
the Central Guard House. They say that they were put into rooms where
they were obliged to pass the night in a standing posture, as there
was not room enough to lie down. After being brought here they were
kept standing in the damp yard (part of the time it was raining), until
after ten o’clock at night, when they were removed to the adjoining
houses (Duff Green’s Row), Carroll Prison.
Two men, Wesley Phillips and Mitchell, were released to-day. They were
captains of schooners engaged in carrying sutlers’ stores to the Army
of the Potomac. They were Baltimoreans and very fine men.
_Monday, March 9._--Fine day. After a rain the water drips from the
window cornices or eaves of the roof, to the ground, sometimes dropping
over the doorway. As some of the guards were on the doorstep they
caught the drops and said the men in our room were spitting out of the
window. A corporal was sent to the room and although the men explained
the matter to him--said they had not spit out, and called his attention
to the falling drops, the window was shut down and we are now forced
to remain in this close room, with no ventilation and the breaths of
thirty-seven men poisoning the air. Our keepers appear to take pleasure
in annoying and persecuting those in their power, knowing they can do
so without fear or resistance or retaliation.
A man who either drunk or crazy, passing on the opposite side of the
street, looked up at the window and seeing the crowd of prisoners,
laughed and waved his hat. The officer standing at the door said to
the sentry, “You had better bring that fellow in, anyhow.” He was
accordingly brought in.
There is a man in Room 16, named Armand. He claims to be from
Louisiana. He is of very dark complexion, with black hair, short black
beard and mustache. He always wears a blue uniform, but I never saw him
with a hat, either indoors or out. He is looked upon with suspicion and
shunned by all. By many he is thought to be a spy. If he goes out of
the room for any purpose whatever, the other prisoners exchange knowing
glances, and shake their heads in a manner indicating distrust. Some
do not hesitate to say: “He is now going down to make his report to
Wood.” Every act is observed and commented on.
No one cares to be seen speaking to him or noticing him. If he
approaches one with a pleasing expression on his face, as if about
to speak, the person so approached will turn from him with a look of
contempt, or, if addressed, return a half-hearted reply, and with a
stealthy look around, as if to see if anyone observed him, shy off in a
direction opposite that in which Armand appears to be going. Even the
Yankee prisoners are shown more consideration, and more regard paid to
their wants and advances. Men who occasionally bestow upon him a look
of pity--such as they would give to a poor friendless dog--will quickly
turn away if he shows a disposition to return a grateful acknowledgment.
Although I have no means of ascertaining whether this treatment is
deserved, or if he is unjustly suspected, yet I cannot shut out from my
breast a feeling of pity for the poor fellow.
At night, when all others were soundly sleeping in their bunks, I
have often watched him as he paced the floor or stood at the window,
his hands folded behind him, looking out into the deserted street, as
lonely and forsaken as himself, singing, or rather crooning in a low,
mournful, but not unmusical tone:
“When the sad, chilly winds of December,
Stole my flowers, my companions, from me.”
_Tuesday, March 10._--Eorio, Comastro and Rinaldi, the three Italians I
have already mentioned, were called before the Colonel acting in place
of Parker, who is sick.
He questioned them in regard to their arrest, etc. He told them there
was no reason for keeping them and they would be released to-morrow.
Eorio promised to see my wife and tell her what I could not write her
with any certainty of its being delivered. This I learned afterward he
did faithfully.
Old Mr. Love was again called before the colonel. He had a certificate
from the prison surgeon, stating that he was ill. That the confinement
was injuring him, and he should be discharged. The Colonel told him his
case would have to go before the Commission.
One of the prison guards to-day snapped his gun twice at a man passing
on horseback, but it missed fire each time.
Captain Thomas Phillips was released this afternoon.
_Wednesday, March 11._--This morning as Keleher was looking from the
window, singing:
“The niggers we will sell
And the Yankees send to hell,” etc.,
a little fussy lieutenant, named Thackery, came bristling up, saying,
“I’ll send _you_ to hell,” and as if intending to carry out his threat
literally, rushed at Keleher with his arm outstretched to push or grasp
him, but just before the hand touched him, Keleher stepped to one side
and Thackery, unable to check or recover himself, went spinning halfway
across the room. The men, none of whom have any love or good feeling
for Thackery, laughed at his discomfiture, and this so irritated the
crestfallen lieutenant that he had the guards take Keleher off to the
guard house.
James Taylor and James Stant were called and took the oath not to
attempt to run the blockade again. Aaron Lewis released.
_Thursday, March 12._--Three more prisoners brought into our room last
night. One belonged to Stuart’s Horse Artillery; the other two were
citizens.
James Ewell released. Russell released; he had British protection.
Frank Thornton, who had been out on parole, returned.
A man confined in the guard house knocked down a portion of the
partition. He was taken out and tied up by the wrists to a tree. He
broke the cords after a time and released himself. He was then removed,
but I do not know what was done with him after.
Among my room-mates I have discovered an old schoolmate, Thomas
Holbrook, of Baltimore. He and I were schoolboys together at a school
kept by Martin J. Kerney, in a little one-story brick building,
situated on Exeter Street, between Baltimore and Fayette, Baltimore
City. Mr. Kerney was a graduate of Mount St. Mary’s College,
Emmittsburg, Md. After giving up school teaching he entered into the
practice of law and was afterward a member of the Maryland State
Legislature. He was the author of a number of educational works, some
of which are still used. Three of the Booth brothers--Edwin, the
celebrated actor; John Wilkes, who shot Lincoln, and Joseph Adrian
Booth, who afterward became a physician, and also John Sleeper Clarke,
the comedian, who later on married Asia Booth, a sister of the Booth
brothers, were all attending this school at the same time with us.
Holbrook is quite a valuable addition to our company. He is exceedingly
clever in handling playing cards and often amuses us with exhibitions
of tricks, in which he displays remarkable dexterity. He thus helps
us while away many a tedious hour. He was at one time in the Navy,
and, like all seafaring men, is handy about the house. We all are glad
when it is Tom’s day in the kitchen as cook for the mess. He will say,
“Well, boys, what will it be to-day--lobscouse or skilligalee?”
He will take a ham-bone, from which most of the meat has been cut, and
sitting down will patiently pick off with a pocket-knife every scrap
of fat and lean, and with the addition of a few potatoes or other
ingredients, will serve up quite a tasty little side dish for our table.
An old man who had been confined here for some time, was released a
few days ago. He was bent with age, and very feeble and childish, so
that when here he would often get lost in the building. After wandering
about for some time he came back. He said he thought the war was over
when he was sent off. That he was away from home; 84 years of age; with
no place to go and no means of getting to his home. He begged to be
taken back.
At night a sergeant came into the room with a list of names which he
called over; my name being among the number. He asked each one if he
wanted to go to Richmond. All those who are booked for Richmond are
greatly elated at the prospect of their release from prison and a trip
to Dixie. Whiskey was smuggled in and several of the fortunate ones
were quite lively. Very little sleep to-night for anyone here.
Fitzhugh Carter, or as he was familiarly called “Chew Carter,” was a
sprightly little fellow from Fauquier County, Virginia. Brought up on
a farm and enjoying in his early life the companionship of the little
darkies, he had acquired much of their quaint dialect and rollicking
manners. On this night Chew had by some means got more than a fair
share of the smuggled whiskey.
When the lieutenant came in for roll-call, it was the custom for the
prisoners to form in one line, while the lieutenant with the guard
would stand at the head, and as each man’s name was called he would
step out, turn and face the line he had just left. This would be
repeated until, when all the names were called, the new line would be
formed opposite that formerly occupied by the first line.
As it was a difficult matter for poor Chew to preserve his equilibrium,
his comrades endeavored to keep him steady on the perpendicular by
bracing him on either side. All went well until it came his turn to
answer. When the officer called “Fitzhugh Carter,” Chew stood erect,
pushed his hat back from his forehead and snapped out “Yer, sah!” and
lurched forward to the line opposite. The loud and jerky way he was
answered appeared to strike the lieutenant, for he raised his head and
looked to where the sound came from and then cast his eyes down again
to his roll. Just at this moment Chew, apparently satisfied with the
accomplishment of his little feat, looked toward the head of the line
and observing the action of the lieutenant, said “Who de hell keers foh
yo’ damn ol’ roll-call?”
The lieutenant heard the voice, but did not catch the words. He looked
down the line. The men who stood on either side of Chew nudged him to
keep quiet, and all looked so innocent of any wrong-doing that the
officer evidently disbelieved his ears, if they carried a trace of
the actual words uttered, for he proceeded with his roll-call without
further interruption.
When the lieutenant left the room one of his comrades said:
“Chew, where did you get it all?”
“Jis’ had one drink,” replied Chew.
“Then you must have tapped a still-house,” said Ed. O’Brien, and he
sung--
“The man that has good whiskey
And giveth his neighbor none,
Sha’n’t have any of my good whiskey
When his good whiskey is gone.”
“When--
“Now, altogether”--(and all took up the refrain):
“When his good whiskey is gone.”
There was one little incident during Chew’s sojourn in the Old Capitol
which proved that the course of love does run smoothly sometimes--even
love of whiskey. Chew was very thirsty, and was determined to quench
that thirst. At “Sick Call,” he joined the throng who wended their way
to the hospital.
“Oh, I’m so sick. I got sich cramps. Bin sick all night,” said Chew,
as he entered the hospital, with one hand clutching a portion of his
garments covering the part of his anatomy where cramps are supposed to
locate, and the other pressed against his forehead.
“I’ll give you a dose of castor oil,” said the hospital steward.
“Oh,” said Chew, “I kaint take castoh oil. Nevah could take it.”
“I’ll fix it up so you won’t taste it.”
“It’s no use, I know. You’ll hav’ter give me somethin’ else.”
The steward poured a little whiskey in the bottom of a glass; then
poured in the oil, which was quite stiff, and after that put whiskey on
top. Chew took the glass and with a quick toss gulped down the whiskey
before the oil had fairly started to flow, and handed the glass back,
saying: “Take it quick. I’m afeerd I’ll throw it up”--at the same time
making such grimaces that one would think he really had swallowed a
nauseous dose.
“You haven’t taken any of the oil,” said the steward. “Here; drink it
down.”
“Oh, I got a big mouthful, an’ I’m pow’ful sick.”
“I’ll put some more whiskey on top. Drink it quick and you won’t taste
it.”
“I did drink it jis’ ez quick ez I could. I’ll try, but I know it won’t
stay down.”
Taking the glass he tossed off the whiskey from the top, as before, and
leaving the oil. The steward, now seeing through the trick, said: “You
can take that now as it is, for I will not put another drop of whiskey
in it.”
“Well,” said Chew, as he moved toward the door, “I dun told ye I
couldn’t take castoh oil. I nevah could take it. I drink’t it quick ez
I could. I kin take mos’ ennything better’n castoh oil.” He came back
to his room where he told of the success of his scheme to his laughing
companions.
_Saturday, March 14._--Last night we got the daily papers--the first
for several days. In the kitchen the cooks were at work nearly all
night to have the rations ready for to-day. It was reported that the
prisoners would leave about ten o’clock in the morning. All day the
streets were filled with people eager for a glance at the Rebels. About
2 P.M., orders came to pack up, and about 4 P.M., they left the prison.
Seventeen were taken from Room 16. Guards were placed in line along the
sidewalks and in the Capitol grounds to keep back the crowd who had
assembled to witness the departure. There were ambulances for the old,
infirm, sick and wounded. The soldiers expected to leave to-day, but
were left behind, with the exception of a few of the wounded.
_Sunday, March 15._--It seems lonely to-day on account of the
change--we miss so many familiar faces. It seems like a break in the
family. Six more prisoners were put in our room, making twenty-one in
all. There are two cases of smallpox in the next room.
_Monday, March 16._--This morning the prisoners from Room 14,
were crowded into our room while that room was being cleaned and
whitewashed. There are twenty-one of them--some are broken out with
smallpox.
_Tuesday, March 17._--The men having smallpox, who were put in our room
yesterday from Room 14 were to-day put in Room 18. If they are changed
around a few more times the disease will be pretty well spread.
Two men, father and son, just brought in, were captured in a raid on
the Potomac River. They are citizens. Their families are left without
support or protection. The wife of one about being confined. Both men
agreed to take the oath, but were told that as they would do so only on
account of their situation they would not be released.
Volney Purcell, of Loudoun County, Virginia, was called to-day. Colonel
Buell asked him what charges were against him. He replied he did not
know. Purcell then asked Colonel Buell if _he_ knew. Buell said he did
not; there was nothing that he could see. Purcell then said: “Can you
not release me, then?” “No,” said Buell, “I cannot.” Purcell said he
thought it very strange that he should be brought from his home and
kept here without any charge. Buell said it was strange, but his case
would have to go before the Commission.
The prison yard is now in a very filthy condition. In rainy weather a
great part of the space allowed the prisoners for exercise is covered
with mud.
_Wednesday, March 18._--I was called to-day by Colonel Buell. After
questioning me regarding my arrest and imprisonment, he asked if I
would take the oath.
“No, sir,” said I.
“What,” said he, “not willing to take the oath. I will acknowledge that
my sympathies were enlisted in your behalf, but your refusal to take
the oath puts an entirely different face on the matter. Had you told me
that at first it might have saved this examination. In fact, you need
not have left your room.”
“What charges are against me?” I asked. “If there are any, let me have
a fair trial, as is my right, and if I am found guilty I am willing to
suffer punishment, but if there are none you have no right to keep me
here.”
“You have a very exalted opinion of the leniency of this Government, to
think that after having been South you could be permitted to come back
here and live without taking the oath.”
“No, sir,” said I, “I have no reason to have a very exalted opinion of
the leniency of this Government. I had a right to go where I pleased
before the blockade was established, and afterward had a right to come
to my home where I belonged. I would not take that oath if it were
offered to me at the South, and I do not see how any man can honestly
take it with the intention of keeping it--‘to support, protect and
defend a government or administration, _now and hereafter, under any
and all circumstances_.’ How do I know what may be done hereafter?”
“I have taken that oath,” said Colonel Buell.
“That may be,” said I; “your views and mine differ on the subject of
right and wrong.”
“Go back to your room, sir,” said Buell, and that terminated the
interview.
_Thursday, March 19._--An officer came up to-day with a paper and
called over the names of seven in our room (Room 16)--Holbrook, Barnes,
Littlepage, Keleher, Hoyle, Simmons and myself, and at night we were
removed to Room 10. With the three prisoners already in the room there
are ten of us now in a small room with two bunks and three small beds.
Room 10 is on the north side of the building, third story, first window
from the corner on First Street.
_Friday, March 20._--The prisoners brought in numbered twenty-five
instead of seventy-five as reported in the daily papers, where it is
stated that they were taken in a fight with Stuart’s Cavalry, and that
nothing but the saber was used. The prisoners say the Federals had
artillery and used it.
_Sunday, March 22._--Two elderly ladies, with a small child, were
brought in from the street for saluting prisoners.
The prison officials are taking the names of soldiers to-day
preparatory to exchange.
_Monday, March 23._--It is said that the private soldiers will be sent
off to-morrow. The officers will not go.
One of the prison guards, named Highland, who has always acted very
kindly toward the prisoners while on post, and has made many friends
among them, told me that two young ladies have been brought in and
are now confined in Duff Green’s Row (Carroll Prison). He does not
know who they are or what charges are against them. I understand a
number of citizens from the neighborhood of Fairfax Court House have
been arrested and brought in since Mosby’s raid and capture of General
Stoughton, and these ladies may be of that number.[G]
_Tuesday, March 24._--I have been suffering from severe cold for
several days. Our room is small, close and ill-ventilated, and here we
are kept penned up, with the exception of the time we are allowed out
at meal times. Then we are out in a damp yard, which is so crowded when
there is a large number of prisoners here (as at the present time,)
that there is little room for comfortable exercise. In this yard we
stand for about a half-hour, consequently nearly all of us are troubled
with colds.
The prisoners booked for exchange are here yet, and it is hard to say
when they will leave. It is reported that a number of prisoners are
expected from Camp Chase or some other place, and that is a reason
given for the delay.
_Wednesday, March 25._--At night, a short time before roll-call, the
clerk came up and inquired if all in the room were “State” prisoners.
Receiving an affirmative reply, he asked who wanted to go to Dixie.
Simmons, Barnes and myself answered “Here.”
OFF FOR DIXIE
_Thursday, March 26._--Could not sleep last night. Got up about twelve
or one o’clock, took a smoke and then lay down until near daylight. I
then got up and went down to the prison yard. I understand a batch of
prisoners were brought in about eleven o’clock last night. I heard a
great tramping of feet at that time.
At three o’clock in the afternoon, all who expected to go to Richmond
were called down in the yard and the roll called by Superintendent
Wood. When he came to my name he asked where I was taken.
I said “Here, in Washington.”
“What were you doing?”
“At the store, attending to my business.”
“Stand back. You can’t go.”
I went back to my room, giving up the idea of getting away then. Some
things I had sent for had not arrived, so I was disappointed in more
than one respect, and was about settling myself down, when Adamson
called out to me--“Get your things and come on.” I hurried down, and
when I passed out the prisoners were in front of Duff Green’s Row.
Littlepage, Keleher, Holbrook and Hoyle, poor fellows, looked lonely
enough when we left them.
After receiving the prisoners from Carroll Prison, the cavalcade moved
on past the Capitol and through the streets, to the foot of Sixth
Street, where a crowd of ladies were waiting and bade us adieu, waving
their handkerchiefs in spite of all protests from the guards, who at
last drove them from the wharf at the point of the bayonet.
We were then put on board the flag-of-truce boat, the steamer _State
of Maine_, and left the city at night. About seven or eight o’clock,
bread, crackers and cheese were given out to the prisoners--some got
a good share, while others were served with three soda crackers each.
This was the first food given us since breakfast in the Old Capitol.
In the effort to get the prisoners off we failed to get any dinner,
although we left the prison fully three or four hours after the regular
dinner hour.
Six of us secured three staterooms by paying $1, each for the trip.
Here we were very comfortable, with good berths, etc. Many who were not
so fortunate had to sleep on the floor or on trunks, boxes, or anything
they could find handy.
It was an agreeable change when we were once on board the steamer. To
be where no guards with bristling bayonets were continually meeting you
to remind you that you were a prisoner. Where no sentinel challenged
you at every turn. With no one calling after you if you made a false
move or deviated in the slightest from prison discipline.
_Friday, March 27._--Awoke about eight or nine o’clock this
morning--our boat was steaming down the Potomac River, Westmoreland
County, Virginia, on the one side, and St. Mary’s County, Maryland, on
the other. Breakfast was over, but Wright brought me some bread and
sausage. In the rush for dinner I had my coat-tail torn off and was
pretty well shaken up.
This afternoon we anchored off Fortress Monroe. At night half a dozen
prisoners were brought over to the steamer from the fortress. They have
been at the fort for a week. They are from the West--some Morgan’s men.
I saw Captain Darling making a bed for himself on a hard bench and
invited him to share my stateroom, which he did. He said he had a
very high opinion of the patriotism of the citizens of Washington,
particularly the ladies, and spoke with warmth of the parting scene at
the wharf, where the Federal guards brought their guns to a charge on
the ladies and drove them off.
_Saturday, March 28._--Awoke about seven o’clock. Still at anchor
between Fortress Monroe and the Rip Raps. Two English war ships
anchored off in the Roads. Many of our company are complaining of
seasickness. I felt a little dizzy and weak before breakfast, but went
below and got a cup of coffee, a slice of bread and a piece of fat
pork. After eating this I felt better. Sea quite high for some time. A
heavy rain storm came up about ten o’clock, with thunder and lightning.
The water then became calmer but the rain continued.
At 12:45 the captain came over from Fortress Monroe and we started from
the anchorage in the midst of a heavy rain. The guard here left us,
good-naturedly bidding us good-bye and hoping to meet us soon in more
peaceful times. They were of Company K, Third New York Regiment, and
were on the best of terms with us during the trip.
When opposite Newport News, saw the wrecks of the United States
frigates _Cumberland_ and _Congress_, sunk in the fight with the
Confederate iron-clad _Virginia_ (_Merrimac_),[H] on the 8th of March,
1862. A portion of one mast only of the _Congress_ being visible, while
we could see parts of three masts of the _Cumberland_ and a part of
the bowsprit above the water. They were but a short distance from the
shore, off the point. A little beyond we saw the United States steamer
_Minnesota_ and two other vessels, ironclads, and a little farther off
the _Monitor_ lay floating at ease.