One of our chief annoyances in this prison was in the person of a diminutive, pompous, and arrogant Irishman named Mackey, who seemed to rejoice in the title of “sergeant,” which he took great care to frequently ventilate in the presence of the prisoners. He was an orderly of the provost marshal, and the fellow, clothed with a little brief authority, seemed to be impressed with the sole idea that tyranny was the only attribute of one so exalted. Once, when he came into my quarters, I asked him what object he could have in the rebel army, and what profit he expected to derive from the establishment of a confederacy?
“Enough, be jabers,” he replied. “You Yankees want to free our nagers, be sure, and we’re all ferninst that here, and we won’t submit at all, at all.”
“How many negroes have you, Mr. Mackey,” I asked.
“Why, sure, and be jabers, and I haven’t a nager in the world.”
“Well, sir, what interest then can you have in this war?”
“Och, and be sure, a poor tool of an Irishman can hardly git a wee jab of work now, and if these divels were free, we’d have to go beggin’ foriver.”
So, selfishness, in the guise of slavery and pride, forms the substratum of the so-called Southern Confederacy.
On further conversation with the sergeant, I learned that he had really no interest in the cause of the South, that he was not in the army from choice, but as a means of obtaining a livelihood, and that he bitterly cursed rebellion in his heart as the prolific parent of untold evils.
Our new room fronted the hotel, and from some of the officers we obtained permission to stand upon the balcony of the prison during a part of each evening. On one occasion we were ordered back by the guards. I hesitated a moment; but in that moment a guard leveled his piece and drew the trigger. Fortunately for me the gun missed fire, but at the same moment another guard fired, and killed a deaf man who had thrust his head from an upper window. Realizing the danger to which I was exposed, I instantly withdrew.
On the same evening, I noticed an unusual excitement among the rebel officials. To ascertain its cause I again had recourse to Tom. He requested me to tear a hole in my coat, and then order him, in the presence of the guards, to take it to some tailor for repairs. He insisted that I should speak angrily to him, for such a course would more effectually deceive the guards. I did as he had directed, and he demurred, declaring that he wished dem “Yankees would mend dar own close.” The guards in a peremptory tone commanded him to get the coat, and have it repaired forthwith. This was what Tom desired; and with many protestations of hatred toward the whole Yankee race, he, with great apparent reluctance, carried the garment from the prison.