‘When I must, I had better.’

I recommend this to other young men starting on their career.

The room in which we were was barely large enough for all of us to lie down at once.  Even then it required pretty close “spooning” together —­so close in fact that all sleeping along one side would have to turn at once.  It was funny to watch this operation.  All, for instance, would be lying on their right sides.  They would begin to get tired, and one of the wearied ones would sing out to the Sergeant who was in command of the row—­

“Sergeant:  let’s spoon the other way.”

That individual would reply: 

“All right.  Attention!  Left spoon!!” and the whole line would at once flop over on their left sides.

The feet of the row that slept along the east wall on the floor below us were in a line with the edge of the outer door, and a chalk line drawn from the crack between the door and the frame to the opposite wall would touch, say 150 pairs of feet.  They were a noisy crowd down there, and one night their noise so provoked the guard in front of the door that he called out to them to keep quiet or he would fire in upon them.  They greeted this threat with a chorus profanely uncomplimentary to the purity of the guard’s ancestry; they did not imply his descent a la Darwin, from the remote monkey, but more immediate generation by a common domestic animal.  The incensed Rebel opened the door wide enough to thrust his gun in, and he fired directly down the line of toes.  His piece was apparently loaded with buckshot, and the little balls must have struck the legs, nipped off the toes, pierced the feet, and otherwise slightly wounded the lower extremities of fifty men.  The simultaneous shriek that went up was deafening.  It was soon found out that nobody had been hurt seriously, and there was not a little fun over the occurrence.

One of the prisoners in Libby was Brigadier General Neal Dow, of Maine, who had then a National reputation as a Temperance advocate, and the author of the famous Maine Liquor Law.  We, whose places were near the front window, used to see him frequently on the street, accompanied by a guard.  He was allowed, we understood, to visit our sick in the hospital.  His long, snowy beard and hair gave him a venerable and commanding appearance.

Newsboys seemed to be a thing unknown in Richmond.  The papers were sold on the streets by negro men.  The one who frequented our section with the morning journals had a mellow; rich baritone for which we would be glad to exchange the shrill cries of our street Arabs.  We long remembered him as one of the peculiar features of Richmond.  He had one unvarying formula for proclaiming his wares.  It ran in this wise: 

“Great Nooze in de papahs!

“Great Nooze from Orange Coaht House, Virginny!

“Great Nooze from Alexandry, Virginny!

“Great Nooze from Washington City!