Greensborough Patriot
December 4, 1862
Page 4
From
the New York
Herald
A True Sketch of Prison Life, by An Inmate of Fort Lafayette
To the Editor of the Herald: The statements that have from time to time,
appeared in the “daily papers” regarding the privileges and treatment of the
prisoners confined in Fort Lafayette are of such an aggravated nature as to
have conveyed the idea to outsiders, and the friends of the inmates, that they
were “waxing fat” on the liberality of government, and were in fact enjoying
the retreat of some elysium. In justice therefore to those who are still
incarcerated, you will confer a favor, by giving the following an insertion in
your paper, which latter is largely contributed for by the inmates.
The history of
your arrest and arrival is as follows.
As soon as you arrive at Fort Hamilton, you are delivered by the officer
in charge, to Col. Burke, with the accompanying details. He (the Colonel) then sends you with his aid
and guard of soldiers by a boat to Lieut. Wood, commanding at Fort Lafayette.
On your arrival a
receipt is given for you. You are then
requested to give up all weapons and moneys in your possession. As the weapons are generally taken by the
United States Marshal in the first instance, a compliance is of course out of
the question, unless in a paroxysm of unabridged patriotism, you should
consider your spectacles included in the category.
Your trunk, valise
or carpet bag is then examined, and if all is correct, a receipt is given you
for the amount obtained. The sergeant
then takes you to your quarters. You are
then surrounded by anxious eyes, scanning your person, and inquiries after your
“health in general,” with “what brought you here,” are propounded before your
wretched feelings have become sufficiently collected to enable you to
reply. Again someone will say, “here is
a Rebel,” another will dwell on the cuisine
and the larder, and if near dinner, will yell out “Dinner is ready at the
United States Hotel”, etc. The next
step, you are provided with a bed, either moss or straw mattress, on iron
bedstead, two sheets, one blanket and one pillow, with basin and pitcher, which
last is the capital of a joint stock
corporation of some five to eight. In
the morning you arise, and after going through the necessary ablutions in salt
water—or fresh if you can get it, breakfast is announced. This consists of a pint of coffee, sweetened
in bulk, at times transparent, and incapable of producing deleterious effect on
the nervous system; quantative analysis, the components would range nearly as
follows: Water 94, saccharine matter 4, chicory 1.75, coffee 1.25. A piece of fat pork, whose superficial
contents ranged from five to seven inches, and a good honest slice of bread, by
honest I mean thick—this, and nothing more, constitutes our breakfast. Before Marshal Murray sent down “the large
stove,” the pork was served to us actually, as it came out of the barrel, raw,
or nearly so. A decline in bristles
prevented us from meddling with it, appertitive as it was. After breakfast (eight, occasionally before)
we were allowed one hour, for promenading on a square of earth seventy-five
feet by eighty. Then came the daily
papers, the perusal of which, and comments on the last anticipated attack, occupied some two hours, after that event, the
writing to friends, receiving letters (when
any came), games of chess, whist, etc., discussing past events, and in
endeavoring to ascertain if the potatoes had become extinct since the 20th
of July, served to while away the time, until the momentous hour of
dinner. This meal, which many pride
themselves on as the best, was certainly our
best. Three entrees en masse, rice, or pork, or bean soup, astoundingly thin,
bread and pork, or beef. From actual
experiments with unmitigated labor, for the space of three minutes, assisted by
a pair of “Pikes”
[Transcribed by Sharon Strout]
