After assuring myself that there were no more I hastily resumed my apparel, and tried to look as though nothing had occurred when my comrades again returned. But that guilty feeling would not forsake me, and I was really ashamed to look them in the face, and though I tried hard to appear natural, I thought they looked at me suspiciously.
“Conscience makes cowards of us all.”
I know I was gloomy and dejected all the balance of the evening. This was noticed by my tent mates, but was attributed to a far different cause. They thought I was homesick, while the discovery had only made me sick at the stomach. It was not many weeks, however, before I could set down with my pipe in my mouth, in company with half a dozen others, and go through the same operations with the nonchalance that the same number of old ladies would gossip over their knitting work.
Before our prison life was over, it was no uncommon occurrence to receive a morning call from some old comrade, who would do as these old ladies used to do when they went a visiting, bring his k—nitting work along, and in passing one another’s quarters such dialogues as this would frequently be heard: “Hello, Johnny! on the skirmish line, what luck?” “Oh I ain’t doing much this morning, kind er drivin’ in the pickets, git a stray shot now and then, but I keep annoying them so they don’t get a chance to form.”
It is astonishing how quickly we became accustomed to things of this sort. The Brigadier General, who in garrison or field seemed so reserved and dignified, was here on the level with the Lieutenant in the company. And while rank in prison, as in the field, was respected, and genius was honored, on the skirmish line all met on an equality. In other words rank was waived in the presence of a common enemy—and the officer who neglected to daily inspect his clothing, was unmindful both of his own comfort, and the respect of his comrades. Our facilities for washing and boiling our clothing was very limited, and nothing but boiling them would have any effect in exterminating these troublesome pests; soap was a scarce commodity, and kettles for heating water were difficult to obtain, so the only way to rid ourselves of vermin, was to strip off our woolen shirt, (white shirts were seldom seen in prison) set down and carefully scrutinize the seams, where they would be found hid away; for it is a singular fact, that although while the shirt was on we could feel them roaming around all over the body, no sooner was it doffed than with a celerity that is perfectly unaccountable, they would all be found securely hid away under the seams of the garment, where they would leave an innumerable number of eggs, which were soon to be hatched out and become almost full, grown by the next morning. Having thoroughly exterminated the living, and destroyed as many of the still inanimate as possible, we would resume our shirt, and removing our pants and drawers, repeat the operation on these garments, and would then be comfortable the balance of the day.
This duty was usually performed just after breakfast, while we were enjoying our pipes, and talking over plans for the day, and would occupy about an hour. After coming off of duty on the skirmish line, it would be about time to fall in for roll call, or more properly speaking, for count. We were made up into squads of ninety each, and one of our comrades chosen as commandant, who would, at a signal, fall in his squad in two ranks, when each squad would be counted to make sure that none had escaped. This counting was always done by a reb sergeant, who would be accompanied by an armed guard of twenty-five or thirty soldiers. When the count was completed, we would break ranks and separate, to pass the day as best suited each individual. Usually the first thing to be thought of was the purchases for the day, or as we would call it here at home, marketing. These purchases were generally made of a reb sutler named Cashmeyer, who was allowed to come into the enclosure, accompanied by a guard and attended by a negro, driving a mule hitched to a cart. The cart would be loaded with beef, bacon, potatoes, onions, cabbage, tobacco, cigars, soap, etc., which had been ordered the day previous. We also had two or three sutlers of our own number, who bought of the reb sutler in large quantities, and then retailed it out at a small profit, say about two hundred per cent, to those whose means were too limited to buy at wholesale.
Our mess, consisting of Capt. R. B. Hock, 12th New York Cavalry, Capt. Cady, 24th New York Independent Battery, and myself, was probably as well supplied with funds as any in the camp; and as I was caterer and cook, and unrestricted in my expenditures by Capt. Hock, who supplied most of the funds, our table was usually as well supplied as the scanty market would allow. I would send out by this reb sutler for fifty or seventy-five dollars’ worth of provisions at a time, and by thus buying in large quantities, get the lowest rates. I have spoken about buying our provisions in large quantities—I mean by this a half peck of potatoes, a dozen eggs, a couple of loaves of soft bread, a whole ham which down there would weigh, perhaps, ten or twelve pounds, a quart of onions, etc. Now a small quantity as sold by our sutler inside would mean a couple of potatoes, an onion, a pint of corn meal, and half a pound of meat of some kind. This, in addition to the rations we drew, would suffice for a day very well. We drew three or four days’ rations at a time. These rations consisted of two ounces of bacon, half a pint of rice, a pint of corn meal, and a teaspoonful of salt a day per man; but when Capt. W. Kemp Tabb took command of the prison camp he at once cut these down one-third. Capt. Tabb took command the 18th of May, relieving Major Turner (not Dick Turner), who was a gentleman and a soldier, and who seemed to try to make our imprisonment as endurable as possible. On the other hand, Tabb was a cowardly rascal, who seemed to delight in nothing so much as in adding to our discomfort and annoyance.
