The Story of the Thirty-second Regiment, Massachusetts Infantry / Whence it came; where it went; what it saw, and what it did

by Francis J. Parker

Mayor Brown, of Baltimore, whose case was one of those which perhaps could not be entirely avoided, of unjust confinement, was always easy and bland in manner, and genial and affable to all about him, contrasting very decidedly with Kane, the Chief of the Baltimore Police, who was a thoroughly ugly specimen of a Maryland rebel.

Later on we had the pleasure, for a time, to see with us General Tilghman, a merry, happy-go-lucky officer, and General Buckner, an excellent specimen of the ramrod soldier.

The two last named were, for a time, by special order from Washington, kept in solitary confinement,—that is to say, each was assigned to a separate apartment in the basement of the commandant’s quarters. Their rooms and their doors were exactly opposite each other, and a sentinel was posted in the passage to prevent escape or communication between them. Occasionally, when the weather was warm, they were allowed to leave their doors open, and on one such occasion the officer on his rounds at night found the sentinel slumbering on the floor, and the solitary prisoners having a good time together in one of the apartments. That soldier was not allowed to sleep a great deal for the next day or two.

Colonel Dimmock declined an earnest invitation to pass Christmas eve and day in Boston, because, as he said, he knew that among southern people it was held to be a Christian duty to be royally drunk at yule tide, and his presence might be important. It was our impression that no violence was done to southern principles on that occasion.

The first day of January, 1862, came, bringing with it a brisk gale of wind from the eastward, thick lead-colored clouds, and occasional dashes of rain. It brought also a great excitement to our humdrum community. A steam tug came to the wharf early in the morning, and its sole passenger, a civilian, was escorted to the quarters of the Commandant; then the Colonel went in person to the quarters of our Major, and there was a conference; then the drum-call sounded for parade earlier than usual, and by so many extraordinary occurrences our population was “convulsed with excitement.” Very soon everybody knew that an order had been received for the release of Mason and Slidell. There was a great stir among the first circles of the prisoners, and we afterward learned that they and the envoys imagined that honors and salutes would be paid upon their departure. But in this expectation they were destined to disappointment. The precautions of Colonel Dimmock entirely prevented any semblance of honors, and even suppressed the exhibition of such curious interest as would naturally have attended the incident.

Two sections of men, specially detailed, were so posted as to prevent any person ascending to the ramparts. The battalion was kept under arms and exercise upon the parade, and the prisoners were notified that unless they would give their parole not to make any noisy demonstrations, they would be confined to their casemates. And so it happened, that, except a noiseless waving of hands and handkerchiefs from their fellow-prisoners, the envoys received no attention from any one. As they passed out from the fort, escorted only by the Commandant, the officer of the day, and the agent of the State Department, the battalion stood in line of battle, with their backs to the envoys, with ordered arms and at parade rest. As they passed the guard house, the guard also stood at parade rest, Colonel Dimmock having waived the salute due to his rank, for fear that it might be claimed as an honor to his departing guests.

The prolonged gale had caused the tide to flood the wharf, so that it was not easy or pleasant to pass over it to the tug boat. When underweigh not one person, except the sentinels on the outposts, could be seen on the island, and the driving rain and wind soon forced the passengers to seek the shelter of the cabin, which they found profusely decorated with the American flag. It is said that Mason spat and Slidell swore the whole of the rough voyage to Provincetown, in which secluded harbor a British man-of-war received them from the tug, without any demonstration, and at once put to sea.

Among the prisoners at the fort was one Keene (?), who was kept in close confinement in a small, triangular room in the casemates, the only light to which came through a loophole in the masonry. He was a sailor, and it was said that he had attempted to blow up the frigate Congress with all on board, with which horrible design he had enlisted in our navy. He was offered greater liberty if he would promise not to attempt an escape, but the offer was declined. Afterward he refused to take an oath of allegiance as the only condition for his release, and he was probably let loose at last without condition.

We had a great desire to ascertain what time would be required for the formation of the battalion in case of night alarm, but Colonel Dimmock would not permit the beating of the long-roll for a mere experiment, because false alarms were forbidden by the regulations. Happily that invaluable code placed no restriction on the hours for parade, and when, by the absence of the Colonel, our Major was left in command of the post, the information was obtained.

Tattoo had been sounded, roll-call was over, lights in the barracks were all out, and the men in bed and generally asleep. An extra guard was quietly posted in front of the prisoners’ quarters, and a verbal message summoned the officers to headquarters.