This was my introduction to Belle Boyd, and to this indorsement of Colonel Woods and Mr. Stanton I am probably indebted for the very warm and kindly interest this famous female Spy afterward showed toward me.
As I remember her appearance at that time, she was of light, rather fair complexion, and I think her hair was inclined to be a strawberry blonde. While she was not strictly a handsome woman, there was something in her manner that was very attractive. She reminded me of Maggie Mitchell in her younger days. She was graceful, and, if I remember her right, has been accorded much praise for her winning ways and easy bearings. Though she was older than myself at that time, and the center of attraction among the distinguished prisoners, all of whom seemed anxious to win her favor, I flatter myself that the famous female Spy took quite a fancy to me.
The gentleman whom I have called Mr. English was rather older than either of the little coterie that I had been invited to join. He was one of those fellows who have been everywhere and know everything; in short, a regular adventurer, after the style of the English novel. He was educated—at least, we all thought so—because he talked so glibly and knowingly about every conceivable thing, and incidentally mentioned some of the palaces he had visited, how he had been entertained by royalty. This, with an occasional hint as to the character of his family friends, and the accidental exhibition of a genuine coat-of-arms, convinced Miss Boyd and myself, in our inexperience with this sort of thing, that our friend was, of course, a disguised "juke," and from that time forth he was treated with the greatest deference by us, and ate the best part of our rations. Fortunately for me, he and Miss Belle Boyd did all the talking for the first few days. I became a quiet and admiring listener, had plenty of time in which to gather myself up, so as to be able to formulate my own story, when it should be called for.
But this everlasting Englishman talked so incessantly, and so agreeably, too, about his wonderful adventures, "in the bush, you know," while in the East India service, and in the Crimea, that, as I said, even Belle Boyd, who was a great talker, had but little show.
Our friend could sing, too, as well as talk; each evening the prisoners assembled in the "court-yard," while our glee club, on the balcony above, which was something like a stage, led by the Englishman, who bossed everything, you know, furnished entertaining music. We had every song in the whole list well rendered. It is easier to mention what was not sung than to begin to tell all that were given by this improvised club. Among those we never heard was the Star Spangled Banner, and kindred airs. We had Dixie for reveille, dinner and tea, and it was Dixie for a doxology at taps.
We had regular taps and hours in O. C. P. just as they have in camp outside. At bed-time everyone was made to "douse his glim" with as much strictness as if we were all aboard a man-of-war at Fort Pickens.
While I played the Rebel inside the prison for a purpose, because, as I have said, I determined the first day not to beg off, and it came sort of natural for me to ventilate a little against Stanton, I became awfully bored by the everlasting Rebel talk, and especially so at the Englishman's predictions, that we would all become willing "subjects of Her Majesty before long."
I must do the most violent Rebel prisoner the credit for resenting this sort of talk, every time it was broached in O. C. P.
One evening the Englishman was, as usual, entertaining the assembled crowd with his melodious bellowing of "Brittania Rules the Waves;" he could do that song up in the most approved operatic style; indeed, my later judgment is that the fellow must have been an opera singer among his other accomplishments. He sang this beautiful song standing before the prisoners in the most effective stage style, expecting, as a matter of course, to be applauded and encored at the end of the act. Instead of that, however, in a quiet, slow-speaking voice, I suggested involuntarily: "How about the Monitor and Merrimac?"
The question seemed so apt, and put in such a sly way, that it seemed to act as a match that exploded a slumbering mine. The Englishman never before had such applause, accompanied with loud laughter. It was a continuous "howl" for a few minutes. We retired that night, laughingly discussing the Englishman and the Monitor.