I said, “Mr. Wood, I am in your hands, a prisoner, and powerless to resist. I am obliged to submit to whatever disposition you may make of me.”
“A couple of gentlemen called to see me about you,” said Mr. Wood, “and I am anxious to do all I can for you. You know that this city is in a special manner under the care and jurisdiction of the President and Congress, and if you are a citizen of this place you ought to submit to the law.”
“But, Mr. Wood,” said I, “there is no law to compel me to take this oath.”
“You violated the law when you crossed the Potomac.”
“In what manner?”
“In running the blockade.”
“This city is my home. I was South with my family. How could I get home with them without crossing the Potomac. What law did I violate?”
“I have no time to spare,” said Mr. Wood, as he arose and walked away, and I went back to my room.
One more prisoner brought into our room—thirty-seven now in.
Thursday, March 5.—Boyd Barrett returned. He had a slight attack of varioloid. Haskins, of South Carolina, who was taken away with him, died of smallpox. Another of the party is in a fair way of recovery.