Mr. Wood professes to be an infidel, and therefore, while his partisan feelings are very strong on the question of duty and devotion to the Union cause, he is not disposed to view it from a Gospel standpoint. I have heard, however, that he was born and baptized in the Catholic Church, but left it, and in the days of Know-Nothingism became a prominent leader in that party. I went down to the yard, not so much to hear the reverend preacher (though my preference, if any, would have led me to select him) as to enjoy a smoke and a social chat with some of my friends from the other rooms.
Monday, Feb. 9.—The Tenth New Jersey Regiment is the prison guard here. Among them are many who combine the qualities of soldier and gentleman, but there are some who lack both. The latter, I am glad to say, are in the minority.
Last night before going to our bunks, we were shaking the coal stove. The grate was choked and it was hard to rake out. A guard was sent up to the room, and one said gruffly:
“What is all this noise about?”
“We are raking the stove,” said one of our party.
“No, you are not,” replied the fellow; “I know what you are doing—you are dancing, and if I hear any more of it, some of you will get in the guard house.” Being prisoners, we have to submit to this insolence.
This morning, as I was standing at the window looking out, I heard the sentinel on the sidewalk under the window order a prisoner in the next room to go from the window, or he would get a ball through him. I was standing about a foot back from the bars when the sentry, an ill-looking fellow, called out to me:
“Get away from that window.”
“I am not touching the bars,” said I. I had been told by prisoners long confined in the Old Capitol that a prisoner was permitted to look out of the window so long as he did not touch the bars.
“I will put a ball through you, damn you,” said the brute, at the same time cocking his gun and aiming at me. As I thought the cowardly rascal might shoot, and I would only be exposing myself foolishly, I drew back.