The Bright Side of Prison Life / Experience, In Prison and Out, of an Involuntary Soujouner in Rebellion

by S. A. Swiggett

The molasses incident seemed to make me popular with many of the rebels, and I was the recipient of many attentions. During the day one of them asked permission to take me out, and our guards permitted me to go in his charge. He took me all over the town, introduced me to many people, insisted upon my getting shaved at his expense, and in every way treated me right royally. Everyone I met seemed curious to learn all he could of the Yankees, and I was questioned and cross-questioned as to all imaginable views of the situation and prospects of the Confederacy. My replies were very frank, and I made no attempt to conceal my thoughts, but they were clothed in good-natured raillery, and my hearers seemed to like my plain speaking. I have very pleasant recollections of that day in Boston, and I scarcely realized that I was a prisoner until it became time for me to return to our quarters.

We had another jolly evening, and it may as well be said here that during our stay of several days in the town we duly entertained scores of callers, from the most aristocratic citizens to the lowest, and were kept in almost constant conversation from early morning until late at night.

The guards were compelled to move the crowd away at times, and then, after having talked to us for hours, we could hear them on the outside of the building, discussing the Yankees and their views, all crediting us with being honest in speaking our sentiments.

The next day it developed that we were likely to be delayed several days, on account of the fact that there was no competent person available to take charge of us and the necessary guard.

During the day we were much entertained by the appearance of an outfit in which we became much interested. An old wagon was driven up and stopped before our quarters, and before long everybody knew all that was to be known about it. The owner was a young man in a Confederate uniform, and he claimed to be a captain on leave of absence because of a wound. One of his feet was bandaged and he limped badly. He said that he belonged to a Georgia company, and had been shot through the ankle in a skirmish. His wagon was loaded with Confederate hats, which he had brought to Boston for sale, and he had a carpet-sack full of Confederate money, while his principal companion was a five-gallon demijohn full of "pine-top" whiskey. A second companion was a negro boy, named Joe, who was evidently very much afraid of his master. The officer and the demijohn were seen to be inseparable, as he kept up a continuous drain upon its capacity for entertainment, the result being that he was as near drunk all the time as a man can be who seems to have no limit to his capacity for stowing away liquor. The efforts of the man to seem entirely sober and business-like, and his evident dependence upon Joe, caused much amusement to all.

In the course of four or five days, during which time our confinement was uncertain as to duration, this young man disposed of his hats, and, professing a desire for such service as he could perform, he volunteered to take charge of the guard which might be detailed to take us back to our prison.

We were not over-anxious to go on, as our stay in Boston had been as pleasant as it could be for prisoners, but this offer was accepted, and the time was fixed for our departure.

After necessary preparation, we made a start for the first station, about thirty miles distant.

On the day following our farewell to Boston we stopped for dinner in an open spot adjoining a farmhouse.

Our friend, the captain, was, as usual, on the verge of being blind drunk, and yet so far from actually being so as to be able to know, in a general sort of way, about what he was doing. While eating our meal our leader learned that I was a Marylander. He swore that I ought to be shot for being a Yankee, and that my comrades were deserving of a like treatment, saying that he would do the job himself if he had not promised to treat us as prisoners of war. I ridiculed the idea of his shooting anybody, especially as several of his prisoners were Masons like himself, and told him that he did not dare to shoot one of them. He swore that they were not Masons whom he would recognize, but that there was his carpet-sack, out of which we could help ourselves to what money we needed.