CAGED BIRDS.
The miserable first-waking--dreariest of all hours that follow a great
loss or disaster--came late to me. I had gone through a certain amount
of knocking-about--mental and bodily--in the last week; and, for eight
nights, the nearest approach to a bed had been the extempore couch of a
railway-car. So, on an unhappy emaciated palliasse, covered by a dusty
horse-rug (it took me four days to weary the jailer into a concession of
sheets), I slept, all noises notwithstanding, far into my first
prison-day. It was provokingly brilliant and warm; indeed I must, in
justice to the Weather Office, allow, that its benignancy has scarcely
been interrupted, since I ceased to care whether skies were foul or
fair. My recollections of that first day are rather vague; but my
impression is, that I had a good deal to think about, and did not in the
least know how to begin. I paced up and down, as long as my knee would
allow; it was still stiff and painful, though healing fast. In a room
twelve feet by eight, you square the circle much too often for pleasure;
but it was a week before I had any other exercise. Then, I believe, I
made some attempts to improve the acquaintance of my room-mate.
He was not sullen, but, at first, somewhat saturnine and silent. The
fact was that, for many days, he had been fasting from the luxuries
dearest to every American heart--whisky and tobacco; for all money and
clothes had been taken from him at the Provost Marshal's office, and
never were returned: in these respects, after my arrival, he fared
sumptuously, by comparison, and abated greatly of his discontent. I
might have been much more unfortunate in my companion. He was not
conversational, certainly, nor very amusing in any way; but he was
cunning in all the small crafts of captivity, and kept our chamber swept
and garnished to the best of his power. The way in which dust
accumulated and renewed itself within those narrow limits, was little
short of miraculous; you might brush till you were weary, and ten
minutes afterwards things would look as though brooms had never been.
Twining ropes out of sea sand, or any other of the tasks with which
wizards have baffled fiends, were not more helpless than that on which
my comrade busied himself each morning. The wood fire could not account
for it; the nuisance increased when it became too warm to light anything
but candles; so it must remain another of the physical puzzles
concerning which we are perpetually wondering, where it all comes from,
and are never likely to be satisfied.
Mr. C---- seemed by no means sanguine as to his own prospects, and took
an early opportunity of advising me not to buoy myself up with hopes of
speedy release. I can say, truly, that from the very first I did not so
delude myself. Some of my Baltimore friends would fain have persuaded me
that, in the utter absence of criminating evidence, I should not be
detained long; I forbore to argue, but my opinion remained always the
same. I had heard how tenacious was the grasp of Federal officials,
unless loosened by more golden oil than I could then command. I had
heard, too, how slowly aid or intercession from the free outer world
could penetrate these mock-bastilles, and how reluctantly the
authorities would grant the supreme favor of a hearing, or trial, to any
whose condemnation was not sure. So I was prepared to resign myself to
anything short of a month's incarceration; but even thus, I
under-estimated the hospitable urgency of my amiable entertainers.
The return-wing of the main building in which we were confined, is
occupied exclusively by the prisoners committed under a Secretary's
warrant. These are much more closely guarded than the other inmates; but
they have the advantage of being divided off into pairs, or threes at
most, in their rooms, and their comforts are certainly better attended
to. The regulations anent food and liquors are liberal enough; you can
obtain almost anything by paying about twice its cost; but the privilege
of having meals sent in, is not lightly valued by those who have once
done battle with the boiled leather, called ration beef, contests in
which passive resistance generally prevails.
The barred window of No. 20 looks out on the narrow yard wherein
ordinary captives are allowed to disport themselves for three half-hours
daily. It is a very motley crowd. There are no Confederate soldiers
here; all these are confined in the Old Capitol; but of every other
class you may see specimens.
I will try one or two sketches. It used to amuse me to guess at the
profession of a captive from outward signs, and, after a little
practice, one is rarely wrong.
Those three, talking together apart, and gesticulating so vehemently,
with the Hebrew stamp on every line of their dark, keen faces, are
blockade-runners: they bewail their captivity more loudly than their
fellows; but, be sure, they will wriggle out, soonest of all, if freedom
can be purchased by hard swearing or gold. The profits of a single
successful venture are simply fabulous; the smugglers are frequently
captured with dollars on their persons by tens of thousands: they will
part readily with a share of the plunder to any accommodating official,
sooner than lose valuable time here; and, as for the oath, they swallow
it without a pretense at reluctance.
That group, with wild beards and long unkempt hair, clad in rough
garments of every shade, from "butternut" to hodden gray, come evidently
from the far uplands of Virginia. Looking at those rough-hewn faces and
fierce eyes, you can easily believe that such men are not careful to
dissemble their sympathies, and would not lightly forget an injury; the
chastisement of this paternal Government will change sullen disaffection
into savage animosity; they will all be sent South in time, and "it's a
free fight there." I fancy one or two of those yeomen will see the color
of Yankee blood, before they see the old homestead again.
That pale Judas face, with scanty, hircine beard, and an expression
changing often from spiteful to cunning, could belong only to a Yankee
paymaster or commissary, detected in his frauds before he had made up a
pile high enough to defy justice; for swindler is not _quite_ safe till
he is nearly a "milliner." (So, was my comrade wont to pronounce
millionaire.) Such cases occur daily, and the unity of shabbiness here
is always diversified by some trim criminals in dark blue. Putting
apparel aside, these accessions do not seem greatly to improve the
respectability of the life below-stairs.
There is a very tall man, who generally manages to take his exercise at
a different hour from the common herd: when he does mix with them, his
well-cut clothes and spotless linen make a strange contrast with the
squalor round him. He seems perfectly contented with his present lot; he
is always humming snatches of song, or chanting right lustily: he speaks
loud and freely with the few to whose converse he condescends; and there
is a gay recklessness about his whole bearing almost too ostentatious to
be natural. Before long you notice one peculiarity. Speaking or
listening--sitting or standing--walking or resting--his long, white,
lissom fingers are never still; they cannot handle the commonest object
without betraying a swift, subdued dexterity. Look closer yet, and all
his glib, sham-soldier talk will not deceive you. That gallant belongs
to a great army, whose spoils--if not bloodless--must be won with knife
and pistol, instead of rifle and sabre; to an order whose squires are
often knighted with no gentle _accolade_--an order, the date of whose
foundation neither herald nor historian knows, but which must last while
Christendom shall endure--the Unholy Order of Industry.
The professional gamblers, here, far outnumber the turfites of England,
and they apply themselves to their business from early youth with far
more exclusive pertinacity. The richest field for their talent is
barren, now that the highroad of the Mississippi is closed; but still in
every city of importance, North or South, he who would "fight the
tiger," need not wander far without discovering his den. In Richmond,
especially, the play never was so desperate and deep. It is unnecessary
to say towards which side the sympathies and interests of the mercurial
guild tend. The cunning Yankee was ever too prudent to risk much of his
hard-earned gold on the chance of a card, fairly or unfairly turned: it
is only the planter, on whom wealth flows in while he sleeps, that
tempts Fortune with a daring, near which the recklessness of the Regency
seems cautious and tame.
It is not strange that the captive knight should accept his present
position so cheerfully. Here, he enjoys every luxury that money can buy,
and whithersoever he may be consigned, he is sure to fall on his feet;
for it matters little to those cosmopolites on what spot of earth their
vagrant tents are pitched. Neither is he of the stuff that is likely
indefinitely to be detained: even this jealous Government need not fear
to let such an enemy go free. My comrade--not innocent or unmindful of
past losses at _faro_--contemplating the gay cavalier with no loving
glance, growls out, "They won't bother themselves with that rubbish
long."
There is another figure, quite picturesquely repulsive, which will
attract you more than if it were pleasant to look upon. A man,
exceedingly old, stout, and lame, with red, savage eyes, and a scowl
that never lightens or breaks: it would be an equine injustice to
compare his head to a horse's; that of many a thoroughbred measures less
in superficial inches. Clearly, a storekeeper from some remote village,
where he has battened on the necessities of his neighbors for years,
till he has got bloated like an ancient spider in its web. He hobbles up
and down, never interchanging a word with his fellows, but unceasingly
mumbling his huge toothless jaws; they say he never mutters anything but
curses; if so, his daily expense in blasphemy is something fearful to
contemplate. I think that cleanliness is as foreign to that horrible old
creature's soul as godliness: he never shows a vestige of linen, and I
am certain he sleeps in that rusty coat of bluish gray, and in that
squalid cravat-rope, never untwisted since it was first donned. His
offense must surely have been commerce, active and profitable, with
Rebeldom, for he never can have sympathized with any living thing.
One more picture, to close the list. I ought to know that figure, long
and lanky, but sinewy withal, though the head, under the fur cap, is
averted still.
Mock me not, for otherwhere, than along the greenwood fair,
Have I ridden fast with thee.
He turns now--I knew I was right--it is my cheery host of the White
Grounds, who led us so gallantly through brake, and brook, and
snowdrift, when the Federal dragoons followed hard on our trail: a broad
light of recognition spreads over all his honest face as he waves a
stealthy salute, and I straightway go through the pantomime of drinking
to his health and quick deliverance.
Women of all classes are confined here; but beauty alone beams on the
prison-yard from the windows of its cell. At this moment of writing, I
hear voices from a room immediately below me; fair, the speakers
possibly may be, but--judging from the fitful scraps of conversation
that rise hither--they are assuredly _very_ frail.
I think one of the most exasperating circumstances of this house of
bondage, is the exceeding flimsiness of its defenses. Part of the
inclosure of both yards consists of tall, thin boarding, full of cracks
and crevices, that might be breached with no extraordinary exertion of
foot or shoulder; and there is hardly any part of the stronghold out of
which a man, of average ingenuity, armed with a common clasp-knife--if
unwatched--could not make his way in a couple of hours. But, unwatched
you never are. The passages are not more than thirty feet long, and
there is a sentinel in each who can hear almost every sound from within.
A State prisoner never stirs beyond his room, without an armed guard at
his shoulder.
I soon heard that my reverend neighbor on the right contemplated
evasion, and, considering his opportunities, I rather wondered at
finding him here. In every cell there is a small closet, corresponding
with those on the floor above and below. In this especial one the
ceiling had fallen away, or been removed by some former prisoner;
nothing but plain boards intercepted a passage to the unoccupied
attic-story, where dormer windows opened on to the shingle roof. But,
with all this, it took the parson a full month to make up his mind and
preparations. I often communed with him through the tunnel aforesaid,
and he amused me not a little sometimes.
He looked at all things through a magnifying glass of about eighteen
power. I know that he was perfectly honest in the delusion of
considering himself one of the most important State prisoners that had
ever been confined here. He would have it that half Maryland was in
mourning for him, and ready with ransom of untold gold, but was certain
that the Government would never venture to set him free while the war
should last. Upon the oath of allegiance being proposed to him, instead
of simply declining, he defied the Judge to do his worst, expressing his
readiness to confront either gallows or platoon. The risk of either was
about equal to that of his being tortured at the stake, on the steps of
the Capitol. In spite of all this simple vanity, and flightiness of
brain, you could see that the parson had good strong principles, and
held to them fast; and I believe that his nervous excitability would not
have deterred him from encountering real danger. He appeared thoroughly
courteous, generous, and good-natured; and my companion, to whose
regiment he had been chaplain, told me that nothing could exceed his
considerate kindness to the soldiers.
Albeit afflicted by occasional fits of depression, the reverend, as a
rule, talked very cheerily; but, ah! me, how sorrowfully he would sing!
There was one psalm--penitential I presume--of about twenty-two verses,
an especial favorite. This was probably, the most soul-depressing melody
that has been chanted since the days of The Captivity. The mournful tone
bore you down irresistibly; Mark Tapley would have subsided into
melancholy gloom, before the slow versicles were half dragged through.
But the parson was not the only musical culprit, nor the worse, by many
degrees. It would be absurd to expect much cheerfulness here; a hoarse
roar breaks out now and then at some coarse practical joke; but a frank,
honest laugh--never. Yet I do wish that imprisoned discontent would vent
itself otherwise than in discordant, dismal howling. At this minute a
cracked voice is droning out,
A little more cider;
it might be a Sioux chanting his death-song.
How well I remember, in what "stately home of England" I first listened
to that pleasant ditty. I hear, now, the leader's rich, round tones, and
I see quite plainly the fair faces of the youths and virgins that made
up the choir. _Bastá!_ it don't bear thinking about. If mine enemy were
anywhere but round the corner, I would try if his music would stand a
volley of orange-shot.
For three days or so, I could scarcely take up a paper without seeing my
own unlucky name paraded in one or more paragraphs. As they all varied,
it was somewhat remarkable that, in all alike, facts should have been so
absurdly distorted. They were not content with drawing my own fancy
portrait--imagine, if you please, the caricature--but they built a
little romance about poor Falcon's assassin, giving him credit for much
suffering for his country's sake, particularly for long imprisonment at
Richmond, since which time he had devoted himself as an Avenger. I was
gratified to observe that his name was seldom, if ever, correctly spelt.
I did think of sending a contradictory note to one of the local
journals, but decided against wasting ink and paper. Besides, it is a
pity to abase oneself unnecessarily. "I ain't proud, 'cos its sinful,"
nor over careful with whom I try a fall; but I confess a preference for
more creditable antagonists than American penny-a-liners. So, I let
them--lie.
On the fourth evening of my imprisonment, there was an unusual stir in
the building soon after nightfall. Intercourse between the different
rooms is prevented as much as possible, but the channels of covert
communication are many, and not easily cut off. In ten minutes every one
was aware that the iron-clads which were to annihilate Charleston had
recoiled, beaten and wounded. My mate rejoiced greatly after his
saturnine fashion, and I--the fullness of listlessness being not
yet--felt a brief glow of satisfaction. Others were more demonstrative.
Loud came the pæan of the warlike priest through our mural
speaking-trumpet; while the sturdy soldier on the left, after hearing
the news, and taking a trough-full of "old rye," expressed himself "good
for two months more of gaol." Some one at a lower window began to sing,
softly at first, the National Anthem of the South; then voice after
voice joined in, in spite of sentinels' warnings, till the full volume
of the defiant chorus rolled out, ringingly:
"Hurrah! hurrah! for Southern rights, hurrah!
One cheer more for the bonnie blue flag
That carries a Single Star."
On the whole, I think that Sunday evening passed more rapidly than any
that I can chronicle here.
The newspapers, for the next few days, were rather amusing. The
well-practiced Republican apologists exhausted their ingenuity in
endeavoring to explain away the reverse. It was an experiment--a
reconnaissance on a large scale--anything you please but a repulse. But
the facts hemmed them in remorselessly; at last, in their desperation,
they fell fiercely, not only on their Democratic opponents, but on each
other.
The truth is, that the failure of the iron-clads was so complete, that
it ought to furnish some useful hints for the future. With the exception
of the Keokuk, whose construction differed slightly from that of her
fellows, none were sunk or fairly riddled with shot; but scarcely one
went out of that sharp, brief battle efficiently offensive. The starting
of bolts might easily be remedied, but it is clear that the revolving
machinery of the turrets is far too delicate and vulnerable; and that
these are liable to become "jammed" by a chance shot at any moment. This
objection is the more serious, when you consider how miserably these
vessels seem to steer. Almost all were more or less "sulky" as soon as
they felt the strong tideway, and the huge Ironsides lay a helpless,
useless log, half an hour after going into action. Neither do they
appear to be very formidable offensively. No reliable evidence proves
Fort Sumter to have suffered material damage; yet the attacking force
spent their strength exclusively on one of its sides and angles, and
there was nothing to prevent their pouring in a concentric fire on any
weakened point or possible breach.
But a stranger soon ceases to be surprised at any trick or eccentricity
of the American Press. The common courtesies and proprieties of the
Fourth Estate are utterly ignored in the noisy Batrachomachia; the first
step in editorial training here must be to trample on self-respect, as
the renegade used to trample on the cross. Not only do the leading
articles teem with coarse personal abuse of political opponents, but a
rival journalist is often freely stigmatized by name; his antecedents
are viciously dissected, and the back-slidings of his great-grandsire
paraded triumphantly; though this is an extreme case, for such an
authenticated ancestor seldom helps or hampers the class of which I
speak. A year of such ignoble brawling must surely be sufficient to
annihilate more moral dignity than most of these small Thunderers can
pretend to start with.
One is prepared for anything after seeing whole columns of journals,
boasting no small metropolitan and provincial renown, filled by those
revolting advertisements, that the lowest of our own penny papers only
accept under protest.
Upon one point, certainly, all agree--constant distrust and depreciation
of England; and, all things considered, I know no one spot on God's
earth, where the hackneyed old line can be quoted so complacently by a
Britisher:
Sibilat populus, mihi plaudo.
It would be unfair, not to give the American Press credit for great
energy and ability in collecting intelligence from the different seats
of war. Considering the vast surface over which military operations
extend, and the immense distances that often lie between the scene of
action and the place of publication, it is really wonderful to see how
copiously the New York journals contrive to minister to their readers'
curiosity. The "Herald," in particular, has one or more correspondents
wherever a single brigade is stationed, and according to their own
accounts--which there is no reason to doubt--they frequently accompany
the troops till actually under fire. All agents of the Press with the
army of the Potomac are now obliged to sign their communications with
their real name. This general order is of course intended to check the
freedom of criticism, which has of late become rather too plain-spoken
to be agreeable to the irascible Chief. But it is difficult to gag an
undaunted "special;" so every morning the last intelligence streams
forth--fresh, strong, and rather coarsely flavored--like new whisky from
a still.
The sobriety of the weekly journals contrasts refreshingly with the
license of their diurnal brethren. Sporting papers are nearly the same
all the world over; but, in the rest of these placid periodicals, there
is little of violence or virulence to be found. They are enthusiastic
about the war, of course, and occasionally querulous about the
Copperheads; but they never quarrel among themselves, and are seldom
thoroughly savage with any one or anything. They generally contain a
chapter or two borrowed, with or without permission, from some English
story in progress--"Eleanor's Victory" is the favorite now--the rest of
the non-illustrated pages are filled with the very mildest little tales
that, I think, ever were penned.
These simple romancers in nowise resemble the vitriolic
melo-dramatists--scarcely caricatured by _Punch_ in "Mokeanna,"--who try
to drug, in default of intoxicating their audience; the liquor they
proffer in their pretty flimsy cups, if not exciting, is far from
deleterious; not unfrequently you catch glimpses of an under-current of
honest pathos, soon smothered by garish flowers of language; and
sometimes the style sparkles into mild effervescence, redeeming itself
from utter vapidity; these ephemerals, indeed, belong rather to the
lemonade than the milk-and-water class; but, throughout, there is a
woeful want of _verve_ and virility.
It was inexpressibly refreshing, after loitering through twenty such
pages, to revert to the "History of the Crimean War:" the curt, nervous
periods were a powerful mental tonic; and few of his many readers owe so
practical a debt to Mr. Kinglake as the writer of these words.