Taking the glass he tossed off the whiskey from the top, as before, and leaving the oil. The steward, now seeing through the trick, said: “You can take that now as it is, for I will not put another drop of whiskey in it.”
“Well,” said Chew, as he moved toward the door, “I dun told ye I couldn’t take castoh oil. I nevah could take it. I drink’t it quick ez I could. I kin take mos’ ennything better’n castoh oil.” He came back to his room where he told of the success of his scheme to his laughing companions.
Saturday, March 14.—Last night we got the daily papers—the first for several days. In the kitchen the cooks were at work nearly all night to have the rations ready for to-day. It was reported that the prisoners would leave about ten o’clock in the morning. All day the streets were filled with people eager for a glance at the Rebels. About 2 P.M., orders came to pack up, and about 4 P.M., they left the prison. Seventeen were taken from Room 16. Guards were placed in line along the sidewalks and in the Capitol grounds to keep back the crowd who had assembled to witness the departure. There were ambulances for the old, infirm, sick and wounded. The soldiers expected to leave to-day, but were left behind, with the exception of a few of the wounded.
Sunday, March 15.—It seems lonely to-day on account of the change—we miss so many familiar faces. It seems like a break in the family. Six more prisoners were put in our room, making twenty-one in all. There are two cases of smallpox in the next room.
Monday, March 16.—This morning the prisoners from Room 14, were crowded into our room while that room was being cleaned and whitewashed. There are twenty-one of them—some are broken out with smallpox.
Tuesday, March 17.—The men having smallpox, who were put in our room yesterday from Room 14 were to-day put in Room 18. If they are changed around a few more times the disease will be pretty well spread.
Two men, father and son, just brought in, were captured in a raid on the Potomac River. They are citizens. Their families are left without support or protection. The wife of one about being confined. Both men agreed to take the oath, but were told that as they would do so only on account of their situation they would not be released.
Volney Purcell, of Loudoun County, Virginia, was called to-day. Colonel Buell asked him what charges were against him. He replied he did not know. Purcell then asked Colonel Buell if he knew. Buell said he did not; there was nothing that he could see. Purcell then said: “Can you not release me, then?” “No,” said Buell, “I cannot.” Purcell said he thought it very strange that he should be brought from his home and kept here without any charge. Buell said it was strange, but his case would have to go before the Commission.
The prison yard is now in a very filthy condition. In rainy weather a great part of the space allowed the prisoners for exercise is covered with mud.
Wednesday, March 18.—I was called to-day by Colonel Buell. After questioning me regarding my arrest and imprisonment, he asked if I would take the oath.