[Can it be a son of old Massachusetts
who utters this abominable sentiment? For shame.]
But, coolly as I seem to say these things, my Yankee heart stirred
triumphantly when I saw the use to which John Brown's fortress and
prison-house has now been put. What right have I to complain of any
other man's foolish impulses, when I cannot possibly control my own? The
engine-house is now a place of confinement for Rebel prisoners.
A Massachusetts soldier stood on guard, but readily permitted our whole
party to enter. It was a wretched place. A room of perhaps twenty-five
feet square occupied the whole interior of the building, having an iron
stove in its centre, whence a rusty funnel ascended towards a hole in the
roof, which served the purposes of ventilation, as well as for the exit
of smoke. We found ourselves right in the midst of the Rebels, some of
whom lay on heaps of straw, asleep, or, at all events, giving no sign of
consciousness; others sat in the corners of the room, huddled close
together, and staring with a lazy kind of interest at the visitors; two
were astride of some planks, playing with the dirtiest pack of cards that
I ever happened to see.
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