After supper
I started down to the yard for the purpose of taking some
little exercise. On reaching the bottom of the first stair
case, I was startled to see, at the other end of the narrow
passage, a richly dressed and handsome young lady. Her appearance
was so unexpected and so unaccountable I unconciously stopped,
she bowed, and I returned the salutation. Then the gruff
voice of the armed sentinal, who paced the passage in front
of the room door, growled that no communication was permitted
between prisoners on that floor. I returned upstairs, and
related my adventures to some of the old prisoners from
Fredericksburg. They informed me that the lady I had seen
was Miss Belle Boyd of Martinsburg,
VA., a female prisoner of war! My ideas of a government
that could incarcerate such a woman, in such a place, and
with such associations, may be imagined, but cannot be described.
For be it known, that our floor was the only part of the
prison where there was the least show of decency, either
in the apartments or the character of those occupying them,
and this lady was on one of the lower floors. I felt interested
in her case, and went to the head of the stairs where I
could see her without being seen. She had been here nearly
a month and had become somewhat accustomed to the hardships
of her situation which she bore with remarkable fortitude
and was now swearing at, deriding, abusing and singing Southern
songs to the sentinal. The fellow was forced by his orders
from making reply to anything she said, nevertheless she
kept up a continual and galling fire on the brute who seemed
rejoiced when he was relieved at the expiration of his time.
With the new sentinal Miss Boyd's manner changed. He was
evidently good natured and she had evidently acquainted
herself with his disposition previously. She spoke to him
kindly and he replied in an undertone. In a few minutes
a side door opened and the head of a young man cautiously
peered out, Miss Boyd winked at the sentinal, he smiled,
she gave the signal to her lover, for such the young man
proved to be! He then advanced to the front of the door,
and sang very melodiously, a love song. She replied with
another, and quick as lightning, I observed her, whilst
the sentinal had his back momentarily turned, pitch her
glove to the young man, he drew a billet doux from the glove,
read it, and writing an answer which he placed in the little
mail bag, he returned to the door and pitched the glove
to his lady love without being seen by the sentinal. I am
thus particular in these details, because it was a love
affair, prosecuted under more difficulties than any I had
ever known. Wrote to my wife for the
fourth time since I have been here. Have received no tidings
from her. Thoughts of her, and home, and children drive
all idea of sleep away. How I exist with so little rest
is a mystery to me.
