CARROLL PRISON (DUFF GREEN’S ROW)
The interior of the building was completely renovated and reconstructed, and here both Houses sat for a number of years. Within its walls two Presidents were inaugurated, and here some of our most distinguished statesmen began their careers. It was in this building the Hon. John C. Calhoun died.
When it was abandoned by Congress upon the completion of the Capitol, it was called the “Old Capitol,” as a distinctive title. After that it underwent a number of changes as boarding-house, school, etc., until, in 1861, it was taken by the Washington authorities to be used as a prison.
A row of houses on the adjoining block, known as Duff Green’s Row, was afterward taken and used as an annex to the Old Capitol, and for the same purpose. It was called the “Carroll Prison.”
On arriving at the Old Capitol, we were halted at the entrance by the sentry patroling the pavement in front of the prison door, who called out with a loud voice, “Corporal of the guard; Post No. 1.” This brought out the corporal, with his musket at his shoulder, and he escorted us inside.
Entering the prison from First Street, we passed through a broad hallway, which was used as a guard room, and thence into a room where prisoners were first taken to be questioned and searched. I found the lieutenant in charge more courteous than any of those in whose custody I had been. After receiving my commitment from the guard who brought me from the Provost-Marshal’s office, he inquired if I had any arms or other prohibited goods in my possession. I replied that the only article I had which might come within the forbidden class was a small pocket-knife, which I took from my pocket and handed him. He smiled as he gave it back, and made no further search. He asked me if I had been to supper, and receiving a negative reply, led me to a dirty, dismal room, which I afterward learned was the mess-room. Here, grouped around a big stove was a gang of negroes, one of whom, at the lieutenant’s command, brought out a chunk of beef, a slice of bread over an inch thick, and a cup of coffee (?), sweetened, but without milk. This was set out on a table, of what material constructed it was impossible to determine on account of the accumulation of dirt. The meat was served in a tin plate which looked as though it might have been through the Peninsular campaign.
Though I failed, no doubt, to do full justice to the repast set before me by the good-natured lieutenant, I certainly appreciated his good intentions and his honest efforts to entertain me with the best at his command.
The lieutenant sat and talked with me for some time before taking me to my room. He asked me if I would take the oath of allegiance to the Government. I told him I would not. He asked if I would be willing to take an oath to support the Constitution of the United States. “Yes,” said I, “but not an oath to support the Government or Administration.” He asked if I were living in a Northern city and came to Washington and went into business, would I in that case take the oath. I told him I would not. I said, “If I were in the South, even, and that iron-clad oath” (as it was called) “was offered to me, I would not take it.”[A]
He then accompanied me upstairs to Room No. 16, and here, after the door was unlocked, I was ushered into my future quarters. I was welcomed and introduced by one of my fellow-prisoners to the others of the party, some of whom had been brought in that same day.