Note F — PRISON LIFE IN THE OLD CAPITOL

To swear or not to swear, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in a man to suffer Imprisonment, exile and poverty, Or take the oath amidst a sea of troubles, And by submission, end them? To swear, to lie, Once more; and, by a lie, to say we end Starvation, nakedness and all the ails That Rebs are heir to—’tis a perjury Devoutly to be wished. To swear—to lie; To lie!—perchance a change; aye, there’s the rub, For in that change the angry Rebs may come, When from these lands the Feds are driven out, Must give us pause; there’s the respect That makes a man of honor hesitate. But who would bear at the dead hour of night To be ’roused from his sleep—dragged out of bed— To be locked up in jail—to hold his tongue— Before a mock tribunal to be tried, And then condemned for deeds he knew not of, When he himself these evils might avoid By perjury? Who would detectives bear— To look about before he opes his mouth, But that the dread of bayonets and chains— The provost-marshal, from whose iron grip No victim e’er escapes, puzzles the will, And makes us swallow every oath that comes, Than fly to evils that we dread still more? Thus, love of ease makes patriots of us all! And thus our sympathies are sicklied o’er With confiscation, banishment and death! With this regard, we doff our principles, And swallow Abe, the Nigger and the Oath! Ned Cracker.