PRISON LIFE IN THE OLD CAPITOL (continued 2)

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—

“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.”