Prison Life in the Old Capitol and Reminiscences of the Civil War

by James J. Williamson

In our room there are two, one, I think, a Yankee deserter, known as “Dutchy” and “Slim Jim,” who are unable to contribute their quota to the commissary fund, but as they can make a pot of coffee or tea, and wield a broom or wash a dirty dish, they are always ready to make up their deficit by taking the place of room-mates afflicted with hook-worm or victims of inertia.

Having our meals in our own room, we can take the whole half-hour allowed at meal time for recreation in the prison yard, which gives us an opportunity to mingle with prisoners from other rooms than our own. This meeting of old friends and comrades, and the making of new acquaintances, is a source of great pleasure to us and a relief from the monotony of what would otherwise be the dull routine of prison life.

Monday, Feb. 2.—To-night two men were brought into our room. They say they were employed in General Halleck’s office, and are confined here for absenting themselves without leave. They are looked upon with suspicion by our party, who fear they may be spies.

Persons are often put in the rooms with prisoners, who, while posing as prisoners themselves, are really spies or detectives in the employ of the officials. They associate with the prisoners in their rooms, and also in the yard during the time allowed for recreation, and by assuming an air of injured innocence as victims of oppression, seek to gain their confidence with the intention of betraying them. If they can succeed in overcoming their suspicions and induce the prisoners to speak freely, these detectives report the conversations to their employers.

Wednesday, Feb. 4.—Superintendent Wood said last night that he would allow the party in Room 16 (as they were not satisfied with the prison fare), if they preferred it, to receive the money in lieu of rations, and supply themselves. This was agreed to.

Mr. James Fullerton came to see me to-day. An official seated himself directly in front of us during the interview, and when Mr. Fullerton proceeded to ask me if I had any idea as to the person who had me arrested, the official interrupted him, saying he would be allowed to speak only of family affairs. Mr. Fullerton said he only wished to find out something of the nature of the charges against me, in order to furnish rebutting testimony. He was twice interrupted while attempting to ask me questions.

I had written a note to my wife, asking her to send me a change of clothing and some articles necessary here, for even with frequent changes it is difficult to keep free from vermin. To-day I asked Mr. Drew, the clerk, if it had been sent. He said, “Why, you have sent her all the word you wanted to send.” I said, “I have sent nothing but the note which you still retain.” “Oh, then,” said he, “I will send that. I thought you had written before.” Had I not called his attention to this note it would not have been delivered.

This was the first and last letter I sent out during my term of imprisonment, as I found all letters had to go first to the Provost-Marshal’s office for inspection, and then it was doubtful when they would reach their destination, if at all. A young man named Hurst wrote a letter to his father, who was residing in Washington City, and nine days passed before it was delivered.

A young man named Moore died to-night in one of the adjoining rooms. He was arrested without any specific charge. Though he was very ill at the time, he was marched eight miles. This proved too great a strain for him, and he died soon after his arrival here. His poor old mother was with him at the time of his death. Knowing his condition, and fearing he would not survive the effects of the long journey, she followed after. She was greatly excited. Throwing up her hands, she exclaimed: “I have lost all. I am ruined. My poor boy was all that was left to me, and now you have robbed me of him. But if there is a just God He will not suffer my wrongs to go unpunished.”

Towering up in front of our window rises the stately dome of the Capitol, its top being prepared for the statue of “Freedom.” What a contrast! What a spectacle from a prison window!