The time dragged heavily, although we amused ourselves by singing Southern songs and playing games, some very pretty chess-men and chequers having been made by the prisoners. There were cards in abundance, and there was a faro-bank; but these games were not patronized by our mess. Once on a Sunday we were allowed to go to Church service on the ramparts, but this privilege was not granted again.

The confinement had a serious effect upon me, and I became really unwell; but new courage was given to all of us by the rumor that there would soon be a general exchange of prisoners, and that we should be released on parole. The rumor gained ground; but day after day passed and no confirmation came. When we had almost given up hope, an Orderly announced to us that Major Burton, the Commandant, had sent a message to us, which he would deliver if we would receive it quietly. In a moment all was still: “Major Burton says that orders have been received from Washington to send you all on to Virginia to be exchanged, as soon as boats can be secured.” We could not restrain the cheers that rose to our lips.

A day or two afterwards, when we began to think that we had been deceived, the printed forms of parole were brought in for signature. This part of the performance having been completed, Major Holliday, the senior officer, was called for, and went out. Shortly afterwards one of the Captains was taken away; then another Captain was sent for. When five or six had gone out and none had returned, so that all the tracks went one way, we began to wonder what it meant. My name was next called. I went out, and was conducted to Major Burton’s office, where was an officer in full uniform. Major Burton said that Colonel ——, of the United States Army, wished to speak with me. The Colonel asked me whether I was on General Longstreet’s staff. I told him I was. He then asked me how many divisions there were on General Longstreet’s command. I did not answer him. He repeated the question, and asked how many men Longstreet had. My reply was: “You have no right to ask such questions; and you cannot suppose that I shall so far forget my duty as an officer, and my honor as a gentleman, as to tell you anything whatever concerning the command to which I belong.” Again being asked the question with the same result, I was given up as a bad job, and told that I could return to my quarters. Hurrying back to the room, taking on the way a bag of cakes that some sweet Maryland girls offered me, I reached the room and found the men there in great excitement, as no one of those who had been called out had come back. I described what was going on, and bade them be on their guard. By this time it had been ascertained that I had returned to our quarters instead of retiring to the room where were placed the other officers who had been catechized. So I was hurried out again, and unceremoniously put in the pen. The object was to keep the officers in our quarters in ignorance of what was expected to be extracted from them. But the hint I had had time to give was sufficient. Thenceforward the haughty Colonel received free answers to his questions; but I am not disposed to think that the information was very valuable. He asked particularly the number of Maryland troops in our service, and one officer told him that we now had fifty thousand Maryland Infantry, ten thousand Cavalry, and five battalions of Artillery. The interrogator was astonished. He said he had thought that there were only one or two thousand Maryland troops in our service, which was near the truth. The officer told him that of late all the Marylanders in the different Brigades had been consolidated into a Maryland Corps, which had the strength stated. A special note was taken of this information. Another officer belonged to a Brigade which had about four hundred muskets, and was asked the strength of it. He asked whether his interrogator wanted to know its present strength or the usual strength. The Colonel said he wanted to know both. The officer told him that the usual strength was about twenty-two hundred men, but he reckoned it had not more than eighteen hundred men now.

At last the long expected steamers came, and we went aboard. Our confinement was at an end, and only the sea trip and the run up the James River lay before us. The Sutler tried hard to play a Yankee trick. I have mentioned that we pawned watches and chains with him in order to buy provisions. Prior to the time for leaving the Fort most of us had obtained the money to redeem them. Major Burton indeed offered to furnish us any small sum that we needed, which we might remit to him when we reached home. But the Sutler, as soon as he learned that we were going away, went up to Philadelphia, and did not return. It was evident that he intended to remain absent until we were out of reach; but the boats were later in arriving than he expected, and he was obliged to come back to his post. Our pledges were redeemed, and the Sutler received a severe rebuke from Major Burton. No one could have been more considerate, consistently with his duty, than Major Burton was. This is the same noble officer who had President Davis in charge, after he was taken from the custody of the brutal officer who caused him to be so tortured at Fortress Monroe, as described in Dr. Craven’s well known book. Mrs. Burton was, I think, a Mexican lady, and sympathized very deeply with the Southerners. One day while we were on our way to the mess-hall, she waved her handkerchief to us, but I suppose that the good Major was constrained to prevent so unwise demonstrations afterwards. We did not see her again.

The fresh sea breeze was very refreshing, and we sat up nearly all night talking of home. Hunger, however, soon asserted itself, and we had much difficulty in getting a small piece of cold pork and some hard-tack. The next evening we reached Fortress Monroe, where we expected that our baggage would be searched or confiscated; but by some good fortune it was allowed to pass, and we reached Varina, ten miles below Richmond, without any trouble, although nearly famished.

Our commissioner of exchange was expected to meet us, but he was at church in Richmond with some fair lady, or too happily engaged otherwise to hurry down to attend to the wants of a few hundred prisoners who were half starved and pining to be ashore again. So we remained many hours within ten paces of the shore, before the necessary forms were complied with and we were allowed to land. There was some talk of sending us to Camp Lee to remain there until we should be exchanged; but I was taken by a friend in his carriage to Richmond, where we arrived at night. I was surprised that my joy at my deliverance was not so visible on my face that it would be noticed on the streets, and I half expected that even strangers would congratulate me. It was the 6th of October when I reached Richmond. I had been a prisoner of war only three weeks, but it seemed to me an eternity, and I can hardly realize now that the time, counted by days and weeks, was really so short. And yet, it must have been so.