"He was a rebel captain, but after New Orleans fell into our hands he took the oath of allegiance, and General Banks promoted him by giving him the position of judge advocate."
"That man is a rebel still," I said. "He is doing for the rebel cause more than when at the head of his company, in the rebel ranks. You say a few over 3,000 have passed through your hands here and on the Dry Tortugas. We read in the paper, the day we left New Orleans, an order from President Lincoln to draft men, and here are three whole regiments laid upon the shelf. Are all these Union soldiers?"
"They are all Union soldiers. We had a Confederate here for murder, sentenced for a year. He was here only three months, when he was pardoned; and on your return to New Orleans you may see him walking the streets as independent as yourself."
"This is a flagrant wrong in holding these 3,000 men. Why don't you report Judge Attocha?"
"He outranks me, and should I presume to do it I would be put into a dungeon myself, and probably die there without an investigation."
Sister Backus and I went into the office, and the captain brought us a great roll, as large around as a man's hat. I unrolled a few feet, and read the name, regiment, company, offense, and penalty of each man, thus: For drunkenness, fifteen years hard labor with ball and chain, and all wages forfeited, except three dollars a month; for selling government property, eight years hard labor, with ball and chain, and all wages forfeited except three dollars a month. Some prisoners were sentenced to longer, others to shorter, terms; but upon all were imposed the same forfeitures, and all were put in irons. One man from near Battle Creek, Michigan, was sentenced for life. His offense was simply "suspicious character." No other reason for his sentence was given. I handed this fearful record to sister Backus, and we both read with heavy hearts. Every free State was represented. What can we do, we asked ourselves, for these poor men, some of whom are sick and dying with scurvy? This was a query hard to answer. I retired to bed, but not to sleep, wrestling in prayer to Him who hears the sighs of the prisoner to lead me to a door that would open for the 3,000 men in irons. The captain was a kind-hearted man, and told me that he had in many cases put the irons on so loosely that they could relieve themselves when out of his sight, but he charged them to be careful not to allow him to see them off. On account of the injustice of their sentences, he had favored them wherever he could do so, and keep his own record clear.
The next day, April 10th, was Sunday. The morning was clear and beautiful. Sister Backus said:
"You are sick, or very weary; for you groaned in your sleep so much last night."
"I am not conscious of having groaned," I said; "but I did not sleep a wink. I am distressed, and have spent the night in prayer for a guiding hand to open a door of relief for these prisoners, and I must see them before I leave this island. I am this morning bearing as heavy a heart as at any period of this deadly strife."
"Try and dismiss this subject if possible," she returned, "as they have appointed a meeting for us in the regiment, and I presume there will be an opportunity for you to see the prisoners."