Title: The Record of a Quaker Conscience, Cyrus Pringle's Diary - With an Introduction by Rufus M. Jones
Author: Pringle, Cyrus G. (Cyrus Guernsey), 1838-1911
Language: English
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THE RECORD OF A
QUAKER CONSCIENCE



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THE RECORD OF A
QUAKER CONSCIENCE


CYRUS PRINGLE'S DIARY


WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
RUFUS M. JONES


New York

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

1918

_All rights reserved_



Copyright, 1913
BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY


Copyright, 1918
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

Set up and printed. Published, February, 1918


[Transcriber's Note:

Several unusual spellings have been kept as in the original, including:
northermost ("Fairhope meeting-house is in the northermost country") and
comformable ("yet probably in a manner comformable to").

In some cases, variant spellings of the same word are used, as in the
case of "enrolment" and "enrollment", "therefor" and "therefore", "well
meant" and "well-meant". These have been comfirmed with the original.

In referring to God, there is also inconsistency in the use of "His"
versus "his" and "Him" versus "him".]



INTRODUCTION


The body of this little book consists of the personal diary of a young
Quaker named Cyrus Guernsey Pringle of Charlotte, Vermont. He was
drafted for service in the Union Army, July 13th, 1863. Under the
existing draft law a person who had religious scruples against engaging
in war was given the privilege of paying a commutation fine of three
hundred dollars. This commutation money Pringle's conscience would not
allow him to pay. A prosperous uncle proposed to pay it surreptitiously
for him, but the honest-minded youth discovered the plan and refused to
accept the well meant kindness, since he believed, no doubt rightly,
that this money would be used to pay for an army substitute in his
place. The Diary relates in simple, naïve style the experiences which
befell the narrator as he followed his hard path of duty, and
incidentally it reveals a fine and sensitive type of character, not
unlike that which comes so beautifully to light in the Journal of John
Woolman.

This is plainly not the psychological moment to study the highly complex
and delicate problem of conscience. The strain and tension of world
issues disturb our judgment. We cannot if we would turn away from the
events and movements that affect the destiny of nations to dwell calmly
and securely upon our own inner, private actions. It is never easy, even
when the world is most normal and peaceful, to mark off with sharp lines
the area of individual freedom. No person ever lives unto himself or is
sufficient to himself. He is inextricably woven into the tissue of the
social group. His privileges, his responsibilities, his obligations are
forever over-individual and come from beyond his narrow isolated life.
If he is to be a rational being at all he must _relate_ his life to
others and share in some measure their triumphs and their tragedies.

But at the same time the most precious thing in the universe is that
mysterious thing we call individual liberty and which even God himself
guards and respects. Up to some point, difficult certainly to delimit, a
man must be captain of his soul. He cannot be a _person_ if he does not
have a sphere of power over his own act. To treat him as a puppet of
external forces, or a mere cog in a vast social mechanism, is to wipe
out the unique distinction between person and thing. Somewhere the free
spirit must take its stand and claim its God-given distinction. If life
is to be at all worth while there must be some boundary within which the
soul holds its own august and ultimate tribunal. That Sanctuary domain
within the soul the Quakers, ever since their origin in the period of
the English Commonwealth, have always guarded as the most sacred
possession a man can have.

No grave difficulty, at least in the modern world, is involved in this
faith, until it suddenly comes into conflict with the urgent
requirements of social efficiency. When the social group is fused with
emotion and moves almost as an undivided unit toward some end, then the
claim of a right, on the ground of conscience, for the individual to
deviate from the group and to pursue another or an opposite course
appears serious if not positively insufferable. The abstract principle
of individual liberty all modern persons grant; the strain comes when
some one proposes to insist upon a concrete instance of it which
involves implications that may endanger the ends which the intensified
group is pursuing. A situation of this type confronts the Quakers
whenever their country engages in war, since as a people they feel that
they cannot fight or take any part in military operations.

They do not find it an easy thing to give a completely rational ground
for their opposition to war. Nor, as a matter of fact, is it any more
easy for the militarist to rationalize his method of solving world
difficulties. Both are evidently actuated by instinctive forces which
lie far beneath the level of pure reason.

The roots of the Quakers' opposition to war go deep down into the soil
of the past. They are the outgrowth and culmination of a long spiritual
movement. They carry along, in their ideas, emotions, habits and
attitudes, tendencies which have been unconsciously sucked in with their
mother's milk, and which, therefore, cannot be held up and analysed.
The mystics, the humanists, the anabaptists, the spiritual reformers,
are forerunners of the Quaker. They are a necessary part of his
pedigree,--and they were all profoundly opposed to war. This attitude
has become an integral part of the vital stock of truth by which the
Quaker lives his spiritual life, and to violate it is for him to stop
living "the way of truth," as the early Quakers quaintly called their
religious faith.

But the Quakers have never been champions of the negative. They do not
take kindly to the rôle of being "antis." Their negations grow out of
their insistent affirmations. If they are _against_ an established
institution or custom it is because they are _for_ some other way of
life which seems to them divinely right, and their first obligation is
to incarnate that way of life. They cannot, therefore, stand apart in
monastic seclusion and safely watch the swirl of forces which they
silently disapprove. If in war-time they do not fight, they _do_
something else. They accept and face the dangers incident to their way
of life. They feel a compulsion to take up and in some measure to bear
the burden of the world's suffering. They endeavour to exhibit, humbly
and modestly, the power of sacrificial love, freely, joyously given, and
they venture all that the brave can venture to carry their faith into
life and action. In the American civil war, in the Franco-Prussian, the
South African, the Balkan, the Russo-Japanese, small bands of Quakers
revealed the same spirit of service and the same obliviousness to danger
which have marked the larger groups that have manned the ambulance units
and the war-victims' relief and reconstruction work of this world war.
In this present crisis they have gone wherever they could go,--to
Belgium, to France, to Russia, to Italy, to Serbia and Greece and Syria
and Mesopotamia,--to carry into operation the forces of restoration and
of reconstruction. They have not stood aloof as spectators of the
world's tragedy. They have entered into it and shared it, and they have
counted neither money nor life dear to themselves in their desire to
reveal the power of redeeming and transforming love.

Slowly the sincerity of the Quaker conviction about war has made itself
felt and limited legislative provisions have been made, especially in
England and America, to meet the claims of conscience. The problem which
confronts the law-maker, even when he is sympathetic with the rights of
conviction, is the grave difficulty of determining where to draw the
line of special exception to general requirements and how to discover
the sincerity of conscientious objection to war. The "slacker" is
always a stern possibility. There must be no holes in the net for him to
escape through. The makers of armies naturally want every man who can be
spared from civilian life and can be utilized for military operations.
It has consequently often seemed necessary for law-makers to be narrow
and hard toward the obviously sincere for fear of being too easy and
lenient with those suspected of having sham consciences.

During the Civil War in America, President Lincoln, eager as he was to
win the war, was always deeply in sympathy with the Quakers, and he
stretched his administrative powers to their full limit to provide
relief for conscientious convictions. In the early stages of the great
conflict the President wrote the following kindly note in answer to a
message from New England Yearly Meeting of the Society of Friends:
"Engaged as I am, in a great war, I fear it will be difficult for the
world to understand how fully I appreciate the principles of peace
inculcated in this letter [of yours] and every where by the Society of
Friends."[1] Both he and Secretary Stanton made many positive efforts to
find some way of providing for the tender consciences of Friends without
being unfair to the rights of others. They even requested American
Friends to call a conference to consider how to find a satisfactory
solution of the problem. Such a conference was held in Baltimore,
December 7th, 1863, and the Friends there assembled expressed great
appreciation of "the kindness evinced at all times by the President and
Secretary of War." A delegation from this conference visited Washington
and, in co-operation with Secretary Stanton, succeeded in securing a
clause in the enrolment bill, declaring Friends to be non-combatants,
assigning all drafted Friends to hospital service or work among
freedmen, and further providing for the entire exemption of Friends from
military service on the payment of $300 into a fund for the relief of
sick and wounded.[2]

On several occasions Friends in larger or smaller groups went to
Washington for times of prayer and spiritual communion with the great
President. These times were deeply appreciated by the heavily burdened
man. Tears ran down his cheeks, we are told, as he sat bowed in solemn
silence or knelt as some moved Friend prayed for him to Almighty God.
Writing of the visit of Isaac and Sarah Harvey of Clinton County, Ohio,
in the autumn of 1862, Lincoln tenderly said: "May the Lord comfort them
as they have sustained me." A letter written by the President in 1862 to
Eliza P. Gurney, one of a small group of Friends who visited him and
prayed with him in the autumn of that year, reveals forcibly how he
regarded these occasions:

     "I am glad of this interview, and glad to know that I have your
     sympathy and prayers. We are indeed going through a great trial--a
     fiery trial. In the very responsible position in which I happen to
     be placed, being a humble instrument in the hands of our Heavenly
     Father, as I am, and as we all are, to work out his great purposes,
     I have desired that all my works and acts may be according to his
     will, and that it might be so, I have sought his aid; but if, after
     endeavouring to do my best in the light which he affords me, I find
     my efforts fail, I must believe that for some purpose unknown to
     me, his will is otherwise. If I had had my way, this war would
     never have been commenced. If I had been allowed my way, this war
     would have been ended before this; but we find it still continues,
     and we must believe that he permits it for some wise purpose of
     his own, mysterious and unknown to us; and though with our limited
     understandings we may not be able to comprehend it, yet we cannot
     but believe that he who made the world still governs it."

Somewhat later President Lincoln wrote again to Eliza P. Gurney
requesting her to exercise her freedom to write to him as he felt the
need of spiritual help and reinforcement. Her letter of reply so closely
touched him and spoke to his condition that he carried it about with him
and it was found in his coat pocket at the time of his death, twenty
months after it was written. In the autumn of 1864, President Lincoln,
still impressed by the message which he had received, wrote a memorable
letter to Eliza P. Gurney. It was as follows:

     "I have not forgotten--probably never shall forget--the very
     impressive occasion when yourself and friends visited me on a
     Sabbath forenoon two years ago. Nor has your kind letter, written
     nearly a year later, ever been forgotten. In all it has been your
     purpose to strengthen my reliance on God. I am much indebted to the
     good Christian people of the country for their constant prayers and
     consolations; and to no one of them more than to yourself. The
     purposes of the Almighty are perfect, and must prevail, though we
     erring mortals may fail to accurately perceive them in advance. We
     hoped for a happy termination of this terrible war long before
     this; but God knows best, and has ruled otherwise. We shall yet
     acknowledge his wisdom, and our own error therein. Meanwhile we
     must work earnestly in the best lights he gives us, trusting that
     so working still conduces to the great ends he ordains. Surely he
     intends some great good to follow this mighty convulsion, which no
     mortal could make, and no mortal could stay. Your people, the
     Friends, have had, and are having, a very great trial. On principle
     and faith opposed to both war and oppression, they can only
     practically oppose oppression by war. In this dilemma some have
     chosen one horn and some the other. For those appealing to me on
     conscientious grounds, I have done, and shall do, the best I could
     and can, in my own conscience, under my oath to the law. That you
     believe this I doubt not; and, believing it, I shall still receive
     for our country and myself your earnest prayers to our Father in
     heaven."

It is, then, not surprising that President Lincoln was "moved with
sympathy" when he heard the story of Pringle's suffering for conscience,
or that he quietly said to the Secretary of War, "It is my urgent wish
that this Friend be released."

RUFUS M. JONES.

Haverford, Pa.,
December, 1917.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Nicolay and Hay: "Abraham Lincoln," Vol. VI, p. 328.

[2] Secretary Stanton endeavoured to provide that this commutation money
should be made into a fund for the care of freedmen. This suggestion
was, however, not adopted by Congress.



THE RECORD OF A QUAKER CONSCIENCE


At Burlington, Vt., on the 13th of the seventh month, 1863, I was
drafted. Pleasant are my recollections of the 14th. Much of that rainy
day I spent in my chamber, as yet unaware of my fate; in writing and
reading and in reflecting to compose my mind for any event. The day and
the exercise, by the blessing of the Father, brought me precious
reconciliation to the will of Providence.

With ardent zeal for our Faith and the cause of our peaceable
principles; and almost disgusted at the lukewarmness and unfaithfulness
of very many who profess these; and considering how heavily slight
crosses bore upon their shoulders, I felt to say, "Here am I, Father,
for thy service. As thou will." May I trust it was He who called me and
sent me forth with the consolation: "My grace is sufficient for thee."
Deeply have I felt many times since that I am nothing without the
companionship of the Spirit.

I was to report on the 27th. Then, loyal to our country, Wm. Lindley
Dean and I appeared before the Provost Marshal with a statement of our
cases. We were ordered for a hearing on the 29th. On the afternoon of
that day W.L.D. was rejected upon examination of the Surgeon, but my
case not coming up, he remained with me,--much to my strength and
comfort. Sweet was his converse and long to be remembered, as we lay
together that warm summer night on the straw of the barracks. By his
encouragement much was my mind strengthened; my desires for a pure life,
and my resolutions for good. In him and those of whom he spoke I saw
the abstract beauty of Quakerism. On the next morning came Joshua M.
Dean to support me and plead my case before the Board of Enrollment. On
the day after, the 31st, I came before the Board. Respectfully those men
listened to the exposition of our principles; and, on our representing
that we looked for some relief from the President, the marshal released
me for twenty days. Meanwhile appeared Lindley M. Macomber and was
likewise, by the kindness of the marshal, though they had received
instructions from the Provost Marshal General to show such claims no
partiality, released to appear on the 20th day of the eighth month.

All these days we were urged by our acquaintances to pay our commutation
money; by some through well-meant kindness and sympathy; by others
through interest in the war; and by others still through a belief they
entertained it was our duty. But we confess a higher duty than that to
country; and, asking no military protection of our Government and
grateful for none, deny any obligation to support so unlawful a system,
as we hold a war to be even when waged in opposition to an evil and
oppressive power and ostensibly in defence of liberty, virtue, and free
institutions; and, though touched by the kind interest of friends, we
could not relieve their distress by a means we held even more sinful
than that of serving ourselves, as by supplying money to hire a
substitute we would not only be responsible for the result, but be the
agents in bringing others into evil. So looking to our Father alone for
help, and remembering that "Whoso loseth his life for my sake shall find
it; but whoso saveth it shall lose it," we presented ourselves again
before the Board, as we had promised to do when released. Being offered
four days more of time, we accepted it as affording opportunity to
visit our friends; and moreover as there would be more probability of
meeting Peter Dakin at Rutland.

Sweet was the comfort and sympathy of our friends as we visited them.
There was a deep comfort, as we left them, in the thought that so many
pure and pious people follow us with their love and prayers. Appearing
finally before the marshal on the 24th, suits and uniforms were selected
for us, and we were called upon to give receipts for them. L.M.M. was on
his guard, and, being first called upon, declared he could not do so, as
that would imply acceptance. Failing to come to any agreement, the
matter was postponed till next morning, when we certified to the fact
that the articles were "with us." Here I must make record of the
kindness of the marshal, Rolla Gleason, who treated us with respect and
kindness. He had spoken with respect of our Society; had given me
furloughs to the amount of twenty-four days, when the marshal at Rutland
considered himself restricted by his oath and duty to six days; and here
appeared in person to prevent any harsh treatment of us by his
sergeants; and though much against his inclinations, assisted in putting
on the uniform with his own hands. We bade him farewell with grateful
feelings and expressions of fear that we should not fall into as tender
hands again; and amid the rain in the early morning, as the town clock
tolled the hour of seven, we were driven amongst the flock that was
going forth to the slaughter, down the street and into the cars for
Brattleboro. Dark was the day with murk and cloud and rain; and, as we
rolled down through the narrow vales of eastern Vermont, somewhat of the
shadow crept into our hearts and filled them with dark apprehensions of
evil fortune ahead; of long, hopeless trials; of abuse from inferior
officers; of contempt from common soldiers; of patient endurance (or an
attempt at this), unto an end seen only by the eye of a strong faith.

Herded into a car by ourselves, we conscripts, substitutes, and the
rest, through the greater part of the day, swept over the fertile
meadows along the banks of the White River and the Connecticut, through
pleasant scenes that had little of delight for us. At Woodstock we were
joined by the conscripts from the 1st District,--altogether an inferior
company from those before with us, who were honest yeomen from the
northern and mountainous towns, while these were many of them
substitutes from the cities.

At Brattleboro we were marched up to the camp; our knapsacks and persons
searched; and any articles of citizen's dress taken from us; and then
shut up in a rough board building under a guard. Here the prospect was
dreary, and I felt some lack of confidence in our Father's arm, though
but two days before I wrote to my dear friend, E.M.H.,--

    I go tomorrow where the din
    Of war is in the sulphurous air.
    I go the Prince of Peace to serve,
    His cross of suffering to bear.


Brattleboro, _26th_, _8th_ month, 1863.--Twenty-five or thirty caged
lions roam lazily to and fro through this building hour after hour
through the day. On every side without, sentries pace their slow beat,
bearing loaded muskets. Men are ranging through the grounds or hanging
in synods about the doors of the different buildings, apparently without
a purpose. Aimless is military life, except betimes its aim is deadly.
Idle life blends with violent death-struggles till the man is unmade a
man; and henceforth there is little of manhood about him. Of a man he is
made a soldier, which is a man-destroying machine in two senses,--a
thing for the prosecuting or repelling an invasion like the block of
stone in the fortress or the plate of iron on the side of the Monitor.
They are alike. I have tried in vain to define a difference, and I see
only this. The iron-clad with its gun is the bigger soldier: the more
formidable in attack, the less liable to destruction in a given time;
the block the most capable of resistance; both are equally obedient to
officers. Or the more perfect is the soldier, the more nearly he
approaches these in this respect.

Three times a day we are marched out to the mess houses for our rations.
In our hands we carry a tin plate, whereon we bring back a piece of
bread (sour and tough most likely), and a cup. Morning and noon a piece
of meat, antique betimes, bears company with the bread. They who wish it
receive in their cups two sorts of decoctions: in the morning burnt
bread, or peas perhaps, steeped in water with some saccharine substance
added (I dare not affirm it to be sugar). At night steeped tea extended
by some other herbs probably and its pungency and acridity assuaged by
the saccharine principle aforementioned. On this we have so far
subsisted and, save some nauseating, comfortably. As we go out and
return, on right and left and in front and rear go bayonets. Some
substitutes heretofore have escaped and we are not to be neglected in
our attendants. Hard beds are healthy, but I query cannot the result be
defeated by the _degree_? Our mattresses are boards. Only the slight
elasticity of our thin blankets breaks the fall of our flesh and bones
thereon. Oh! now I praise the discipline I have received from uncarpeted
floors through warm summer nights of my boyhood.

The building resounds with petty talk; jokes and laughter and swearing.
Something more than that. Many of the caged lions are engaged with
cards, and money changes hands freely. Some of the caged lions read, and
some sleep, and so the weary day goes by.

L.M.M. and I addressed the following letter to Governor Holbrook and
hired a corporal to forward it to him.

BRATTLEBORO, VT., _26th_, _8th_ month, 1863.
FREDERICK HOLBROOK,
Governor of Vermont:--

We, the undersigned members of the Society of Friends, beg leave to
represent to thee, that we were lately drafted in the 3d Dist. of
Vermont, have been forced into the army and reached the camp near this
town yesterday.

That in the language of the elders of our New York Yearly Meeting, "We
love our country and acknowledge with gratitude to our Heavenly Father
the many blessings we have been favoured with under the government; and
can feel no sympathy with any who seek its overthrow."

But that, true to well-known principles of our Society, we cannot
violate our religious convictions either by complying with military
requisitions or by the equivalents of this compliance,--the furnishing
of a substitute or payment of commutation money. That, therefore, we are
brought into suffering and exposed to insult and contempt from those who
have us in charge, as well as to the penalties of insubordination,
though liberty of conscience is granted us by the Constitution of
Vermont as well as that of the United States.

Therefore, we beg of thee as Governor of our State any assistance thou
may be able to render, should it be no more than the influence of thy
position interceding in our behalf.

Truly Thy Friend,
CYRUS G. PRINGLE.

P.S.--We are informed we are to be sent to the vicinity of Boston
tomorrow.

_27th._--On board train to Boston. The long afternoon of yesterday
passed slowly away. This morning passed by,--the time of our stay in
Brattleboro, and we neither saw nor heard anything of our Governor. We
suppose he could not or would not help us. So as we go down to our trial
we have no arm to lean upon among all men; but why dost thou complain,
oh, my Soul? Seek thou that faith that will prove a buckler to thy
breast, and gain for thee the protection of an arm mightier than the
arms of all men.

_28th._ CAMP VERMONT: LONG ISLAND, BOSTON HARBOUR.--In the early morning
damp and cool we marched down off the heights of Brattleboro to take
train for this place. Once in the car the dashing young cavalry officer,
who had us in charge, gave notice he had placed men through the cars,
with loaded revolvers, who had orders to shoot any person attempting to
escape, or jump from the window, and that any one would be shot if he
even put his head out of the window. Down the beautiful valley of the
Connecticut, all through its broad intervales, heavy with its crops of
corn or tobacco, or shaven smooth by the summer harvest; over the hard
and stony counties of northern Massachusetts, through its suburbs and
under the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument we came into the City of
Boston, "the Hub of the Universe." Out through street after street we
were marched double guarded to the wharves, where we took a small
steamer for the island some six miles out in the harbour. A circumstance
connected with this march is worth mentioning for its singularity: at
the head of this company, like convicts (and feeling very much like
such), through the City of Boston walked, with heavy hearts and
down-cast eyes, two Quakers.

Here on this dry and pleasant island in the midst of the beautiful
Massachusetts Bay, we have the liberty of the camp, the privilege of air
and sunshine and hay beds to sleep upon. So we went to bed last night
with somewhat of gladness elevating our depressed spirits.

Here are many troops gathering daily from all the New England States
except Connecticut and Rhode Island. Their white tents are dotting the
green slopes and hilltops of the island and spreading wider and wider.
This is the flow of military tide here just now. The ebb went out to sea
in the shape of a great shipload just as we came in, and another load
will be sent before many days. All is war here. We are surrounded by the
pomp and circumstance of war, and enveloped in the cloud thereof. The
cloud settles down over the minds and souls of all; they cannot see
beyond, nor do they try; but with the clearer eye of Christian faith I
try to look beyond all this error unto Truth and Holiness immaculate:
and thanks to our Father, I am favoured with glimpses that are sweet
consolation amid this darkness.

This is one gratification: the men with us give us their sympathy. They
seem to look upon us tenderly and pitifully, and their expressions of
kind wishes are warm. Although we are relieved from duty and from drill,
and may lie in our tents during rain and at night, we have heard of no
complaint. This is the more worthy of note as there are so few in our
little (Vermont) camp. Each man comes on guard half the days. It would
probably be otherwise were their hearts in the service; but I have yet
to find the man in any of these camps or at any service who does not
wish himself at home. Substitutes say if they knew all they know now
before leaving home they would not have enlisted; and they have been but
a week from their homes and have endured no hardships. Yesterday L.M.M.
and I appeared before the Captain commanding this camp with a statement
of our cases. He listened to us respectfully and promised to refer us to
the General commanding here, General Devens; and in the meantime
released us from duty. In a short time afterward he passed us in our
tent, asking our names. We have not heard from him, but do not drill or
stand guard; so, we suppose, his release was confirmed. At that
interview a young lieutenant sneeringly told us he thought we had better
throw away our scruples and fight in the service of the country; and as
we told the Captain we could not accept pay, he laughed mockingly, and
said he would not stay here for $13.00 per month. He gets more than a
hundred, I suppose.

How beautiful seems the world on this glorious morning here by the
seaside! Eastward and toward the sun, fair green isles with outlines of
pure beauty are scattered over the blue bay. Along the far line of the
mainland white hamlets and towns glisten in the morning sun; countless
tiny waves dance in the wind that comes off shore and sparkle sunward
like myriads of gems. Up the fair vault, flecked by scarcely a cloud,
rolls the sun in glory. Though fair be the earth, it has come to be
tainted and marred by him who was meant to be its crowning glory. Behind
me on this island are crowded vile and wicked men, the murmur of whose
ribaldry riseth continually like the smoke and fumes of a lower world.
Oh! Father of Mercies, forgive the hard heartlessness and blindness and
scarlet sins of my fellows, my brothers.


PRISON EXPERIENCES FOR CONSCIENCE' SAKE--OUR PRISON

_31st._, _8th_ month, 1863. IN GUARD HOUSE.--Yesterday morning L.M.M.
and I were called upon to do fatigue duty. The day before we were asked
to do some cleaning about camp and to bring water. We wished to be
obliging, to appear willing to bear a hand toward that which would
promote our own and our fellows' health and convenience; but as we
worked we did not feel easy. Suspecting we had been assigned to such
work, the more we discussed in our minds the subject, the more clearly
the right way seemed opened to us; and we separately came to the
judgment that we must not conform to this requirement. So when the
sergeant bade us "Police the streets," we asked him if he had received
instructions with regard to us, and he replied we had been assigned to
"Fatigue Duty." L.M.M. answered him that we could not obey. He left us
immediately for the Major (Jarvis of Weathersfield, Vt.). He came back
and ordered us to the Major's tent. The latter met us outside and
inquired concerning the complaint he had heard of us. Upon our statement
of our position, he apparently undertook to argue our whimsies, as he
probably looked upon our principles, out of our heads. We replied to his
points as we had ability; but he soon turned to bullying us rather than
arguing with us, and would hardly let us proceed with a whole sentence.
"I make some pretension to religion myself," he said; and quoted the Old
Testament freely in support of war. Our terms were, submission or the
guard-house. We replied we could not obey.

This island was formerly occupied by a company, who carried on the large
farm it comprises and opened a great hotel as a summer resort.

The subjects of all misdemeanours, grave and small, are here confined.
Those who have deserted or attempted it; those who have insulted
officers and those guilty of theft, fighting, drunkenness, etc. In
_most_, as in the camps, there are traces yet of manhood and of the
Divine Spark, but some are abandoned, dissolute. There are many here
among the substitutes who were actors in the late New York riots. They
show unmistakably the characteristics and sentiments of those rioters,
and, especially, hatred to the blacks drafted and about camp, and
exhibit this in foul and profane jeers heaped upon these unoffending men
at every opportunity. In justice to the blacks I must say they are
superior to the whites in all their behaviour.

_31st._ P.M.--Several of us were a little time ago called out one by one
to answer inquiries with regard to our offences. We replied we could not
comply with military requisitions. P.D., being last, was asked if he
would die first, and replied promptly but mildly, _Yes_.

Here we are in prison in our own land for no crimes, no offence to God
nor man; nay, more: we are here for obeying the commands of the Son of
God and the influences of his Holy Spirit. I must look for patience in
this dark day. I am troubled too much and excited and perplexed.

_1st._, _9th_ month.--Oh, the horrors of the past night--I never before
experienced such _sensations_ and fears; and never did I feel so clearly
that I had nothing but the hand of our Father to shield me from evil.
Last night we three lay down together on the floor of a lower room of
which we had taken possession. The others were above. We had but one
blanket between us and the floor, and one over us. The other one we had
lent to a wretched deserter who had skulked into our room for _relief_,
being without anything of his own. We had during the day gained the
respect of the fellows, and they seemed disposed to let us occupy our
room in peace. I cannot say in quiet, for these caged beasts are
restless, and the resonant boards of this old building speak of bedlam.
The thin board partitions, the light door fastened only by a pine stick
thrust into a wooden loop on the casing, seemed small protection in case
of assault; but we lay down to sleep in quiet trust. But we had scarcely
fallen asleep before we were awakened by the demoniac howlings and
yellings of a man just brought into the next room, and allowed the
liberty of the whole house. He was drunk, and further seemed to be
labouring under delirium tremens. He crashed about furiously, and all
the more after the guard tramped heavily in and bound him with
handcuffs, and chain and ball. Again and again they left, only to return
to quiet him by threats or by crushing him down to the floor and gagging
him. In a couple of hours he became quiet and we got considerable sleep.

In the morning the fellow came into our room apologizing for the
intrusion. He appeared a smart, fine-looking young man, restless and
uneasy. P.D. has a way of disposing of intruders that is quite
effectual. I have not entirely disposed of some misgivings with respect
to the legitimacy of his use of the means, so he commenced reading aloud
in the Bible. The fellow was impatient and noisy, but he soon settled
down on the floor beside him. As he listened and talked with us the
recollections of his father's house and his innocent childhood were
awakened. He was the child of pious parents, taught in Sabbath School
and under pure home influences till thirteen. Then he was drawn into bad
company, soon after leaving home for the sea; and, since then, has
served in the army and navy,--in the army in Wilson's and Hawkins's
[brigades]. His was the old story of the total subjection of moral power
and thralldom to evil habits and associates. He would get drunk,
whenever it was in his power. It was wrong; but he could not help it.
Though he was awakened and recollected his parents looking long and in
vain for his return, he soon returned to camp, to his wallowing in the
mire, and I fear to his path to certain perdition.

_3d._ [9th month.]--A Massachusetts major, the officer of the day, in
his inspection of the guard-house came into our room today. We were
lying on the floor engaged in reading and writing. He was apparently
surprised at this and inquired the name of our books; and finding the
Bible and Thomas à Kempis's _Imitation of Christ_, observed that they
were good books. I cannot say if he knew we were Friends, but he asked
us why we were in here.

Like all officers he proceeded to reason with us, and to advise us to
serve, presenting no comfort if we still persisted in our course. He
informed us of a young Friend, Edward W. Holway of Sandwich, Mass.,
having been yesterday under punishment in the camp by his orders, who
was today doing service about camp. He said he was not going to put his
Quaker in the guard-house, but was going to bring him to work by
punishment. We were filled with deep sympathy for him and desired to
cheer him by kind words as well as by the knowledge of our similar
situation. We obtained permission of the Major to write to him a letter
open to his inspection. "You may be sure," said E.W.H. to us at W., "the
Major did not allow it to leave his hands."

This forenoon the Lieutenant of the Day came in and acted the same part,
though he was not so cool, and left expressing the hope, if we would not
serve our country like men, that God would curse us. Oh, the trials from
these officers! One after another comes in to relieve himself upon us.
Finding us firm and not lacking in words, they usually fly into a
passion and end by bullying us. How can we reason with such men? They
are utterly unable to comprehend the pure Christianity and spirituality
of our principles. They have long stiffened their necks in their own
strength. They have stopped their ears to the voice of the Spirit, and
hardened their hearts to his influences. They see no duty higher than
that to country. What shall we receive at their hands?

This Major tells us we will not be tried here. Then we are to be sent
into the field, and there who will deliver us but God? Ah, I have nursed
in my heart a hope that I may be spared to return home. Must I cast it
out and have no desire, but to do the will of my Master. It were better,
even so. O, Lord, Thy will be done. Grant I may make it my chief delight
and render true submission thereto.

Yesterday a little service was required of our dear L.M.M., but he
insisted he could not comply. A sergeant and two privates were engaged.
They coaxed and threatened him by turns, and with a determination not to
be baffled took him out to perform it. Though guns were loaded he still
stood firm and was soon brought back. We are happy here in
guard-house,--too happy, too much at ease. We should see more of the
Comforter,--feel more strength,--if the trial were fiercer; but this is
well. This is a trial of strength of patience.

_6th._ [9th month.]--Yesterday we had officers again for visitors. Major
J.B. Gould, 13th Massachusetts, came in with the determination of
persuading us to consent to be transferred to the hospital here, he
being the Provost Marshal of the island and having the power to make the
transfer. He is different in being and bearing from those who have been
here before. His motives were apparently those of pure kindness, and his
demeanour was that of a gentleman. Though he talked with us more than an
hour, he lost no part of his self-control or good humour. So by his
eloquence and kindness he made more impression upon us than any before.
As Congregationalist he well knew the courts of the temple, but the Holy
of Holies he had never seen, and knew nothing of its secrets. He
understood expediency; but is not the man to "lay down his life for my
sake." He is sincere and seems to think what Major Gould believes cannot
be far from right. After his attempt we remained as firm as ever. We
must expect all means will be tried upon us, and no less persuasion than
threats.

AT THE HOSPITAL, _7th._ [9th month.]--Yesterday morning came to us Major
Gould again, informing us that he had come to take us out of that dirty
place, as he could not see such respectable men lying there, and was
going to take us up to the hospital. We assured him we could not serve
there, and asked him if he would not bring us back when we had there
declared our purpose. He would not reply directly; but brought us here
and left us. When the surgeon knew our determination, he was for haling
us back at once; what he wanted, he said, was willing men. We sat on
the sward without the hospital tents till nearly noon, for some one to
take us back; when we were ordered to move into the tents and quarters
assigned us in the mess-room. The Major must have interposed,
demonstrating his kindness by his resolution that we should occupy and
enjoy the pleasanter quarters of the hospital, certainly if serving; but
none the less so if we declined. Later in the day L.M.M. and P.D. were
sitting without, when he passed them and, laughing heartily, declared
they were the strangest prisoners of war he ever saw. He stopped some
time to talk with them and when they came in they declared him a kind
and honest man.

If we interpret aright his conduct, this dangerous trial is over, and we
have escaped the perplexities that his kindness and determination threw
about us.

_13th._--Last night we received a letter from Henry Dickinson, stating
that the President, though sympathizing with those in our situation,
felt bound by the Conscription Act, and felt liberty, in view of his
oath to execute the laws, to do no more than detail us from active
service to hospital duty, or to the charge of the coloured refugees. For
more than a week have we lain here, refusing to engage in hospital
service; shall we retrace the steps of the past week? Or shall we go
South as overseers of the blacks on the confiscated estates of the
rebels, to act under military commanders and to report to such? What
would become of our testimony and our determination to preserve
ourselves clear of the guilt of this war?

P.S. We have written back to Henry Dickinson that we cannot purchase
life at cost of peace of soul.

_14th._--We have been exceeding sorrowful since receiving advice--as we
must call it--from H.D. to enter the hospital service or some similar
situation. We did not look for that from him. It is not what our Friends
sent us out for; nor is it what we came for. We shall feel desolate and
dreary in our position, unless supported and cheered by the words of
those who have at heart our best interests more than regard for our
personal welfare. We walk as we feel guided by Best Wisdom. Oh, may we
run and not err in the high path of Holiness.

_16th._--Yesterday a son-in-law of N.B. of Lynn came to see us. He was
going to get passes for one or two of the Lynn Friends, that they might
come over to see us today. He informed us that the sentiment of the
Friends hereabouts was that we might enter the hospital without
compromising our principles; and he produced a letter from W.W. to S.B.
to the same effect. W.W. expressed his opinion that we might do so
without doing it in lieu of other service. How can we evade a fact?
Does not the government both demand and accept it as in lieu of other
service? Oh, the cruelest blow of all comes from our friends.

_17th._--Although this trial was brought upon us by our friends, their
intentions were well meant. Their regard for our personal welfare and
safety too much absorbs the zeal they should possess for the maintenance
of the principle of the peaceableness of our Master's kingdom. An
unfaithfulness to this through meekness and timidity seems
manifest,--too great a desire to avoid suffering at some sacrifice of
principle, perhaps,--too little of placing of Faith and confidence upon
the Rock of Eternal Truth.

Our friends at home, with W.D. at their head, support us; and yesterday,
at the opportune moment, just as we were most distressed by the
solicitations of our visitors, kind and cheering words of Truth were
sent us through dear C.M.P., whose love rushes out to us warm and living
and just from an overflowing fountain.

I must record another work of kind attention shown us by Major Gould.
Before we embarked, he came to us for a friendly visit. As we passed him
on our way to the wharf he bade us Farewell and expressed a hope we
should not have so hard a time as we feared. And after we were aboard
the steamer, as the result of his interference on our behalf, we must
believe, we were singled out from the midst of the prisoners, among whom
we had been placed previous to coming aboard, and allowed the liberty of
the vessel. By this are we saved much suffering, as the other prisoners
were kept under close guard in a corner on the outside of the boat.

FOREST CITY UP THE POTOMAC. _22nd._ [9th month.]--It was near noon,
yesterday, when we turned in from sea between Cape Charles and Henry;
and, running thence down across the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, alongside
Old Point Comfort, dropped anchor off Fortress Monroe. The scene around
us was one of beauty, though many of its adornments were the results and
means of wrong. The sunshine was brighter, the verdure greener to our
eyes weary of the sea, and the calm was milder and more grateful that we
had so long tossed in the storm.

The anchor was soon drawn up again and the _Forest City_ steamed up the
James River toward Newport News, and turning to the left between the
low, pine-grown banks, passed Norfolk to leave the New Hampshire
detachment at Portsmouth.

Coming back to Fortress Monroe, some freight was landed; and in the calm
clear light of the moon, we swung away from shore and dropping down the
mouth of the river, rounded Old Point, and, going up the Chesapeake,
entered the Potomac in the night-time.

OFF SHORE, ALEXANDRIA. _23d._--Here we anchored last night after the
main detachment was landed, and the Vermont and Massachusetts men
remained on board another night. We hear we are to go right to the
field, where active operations are going on. This seems hard. We have
not till now given up the hope that we were not to go out into Virginia
with the rest of the men, but were to be kept here at Washington.
Fierce, indeed, are our trials. I am not discouraged entirely; but I am
weak from want of food which I can eat, and from sickness. I do not know
how I am going to live in such way, or get to the front.

P.S. We have just landed; and I had the liberty to buy a pie of a woman
hawking such things, that has strengthened me wonderfully.

CAMP NEAR CULPEPER. _25th._--My distress is too great for words; but I
must overcome my disinclination to write, or this record will remain
unfinished. So, with aching head and heart, I proceed.

Yesterday morning we were roused early for breakfast and for preparation
for starting. After marching out of the barracks, we were first taken to
the armory, where each man received a gun and its equipments and a piece
of tent. We stood in line, waiting for our turn with apprehensions of
coming trouble. Though we had felt free to keep with those among whom we
had been placed, we could not consent to carry a gun, even though we did
not intend to use it; and, from our previous experience, we knew it
would go harder with us, if we took the first step in the wrong
direction, though it might seem an unimportant one, and an easy and not
very wrong way to avoid difficulty. So we felt decided we must decline
receiving the guns. In the hurry and bustle of equipping a detachment
of soldiers, one attempting to explain a position and the grounds
therefor so peculiar as ours to junior, petty officers, possessing
liberally the characteristics of these: pride, vanity, conceit, and an
arbitrary spirit, impatience, profanity, and contempt for holy things,
must needs find the opportunity a very unfavourable one.

We succeeded in giving these young officers a slight idea of what we
were; and endeavoured to answer their questions of why we did not pay
our commutation, and avail ourselves of that provision made expressly
for such; of why we had come as far as that place, etc. We realized then
the unpleasant results of that practice, that had been employed with us
by the successive officers into whose hands we had fallen,--of shirking
any responsibility, and of passing us on to the next officer above.

A council was soon holden to decide what to do with us. One proposed to
place us under arrest, a sentiment we rather hoped might prevail, as it
might prevent our being sent on to the front; but another, in some spite
and impatience, insisted, as it was their duty to supply a gun to every
man and forward him, that the guns should be put upon us, and we be made
to carry them. Accordingly the equipment was buckled about us, and the
straps of the guns being loosened, they were thrust over our heads and
hung upon our shoulders. In this way we were urged forward through the
streets of Alexandria; and, having been put upon a long train of dirt
cars, were started for Culpeper. We came over a long stretch of
desolated and deserted country, through battlefields of previous
summers, and through many camps now lively with the work of this present
campaign. Seeing, for the first time, a country made dreary by the
war-blight, a country once adorned with groves and green pastures and
meadows and fields of waving grain, and happy with a thousand homes, now
laid with the ground, one realizes as he can in no other way something
of the ruin that lies in the trail of a war. But upon these fields of
Virginia, once so fair, there rests a two-fold blight, first that of
slavery, now that of war. When one contrasts the face of this country
with the smiling hillsides and vales of New England, he sees stamped
upon it in characters so marked, none but a blind man can fail to read,
the great irrefutable arguments against slavery and against war, too;
and must be filled with loathing for these twin relics of barbarism, so
awful in the potency of their consequences that they can change even the
face of the country.

Through the heat of this long ride, we felt our total lack of water and
the meagreness of our supply of food. Our thirst became so oppressive
as we were marched here from Culpeper, some four miles with scarcely a
halt to rest, under our heavy loads, and through the heat and deep dust
of the road, that we drank water and dipped in the brooks we passed,
though it was discoloured with the soap the soldiers had used in
washing. The guns interfered with our walking, and, slipping down,
dragged with painful weight upon our shoulders. Poor P.D. fell out from
exhaustion and did not come in till we had been some little time at the
camp. We were taken to the 4th Vermont regiment and soon apportioned to
companies. Though we waited upon the officer commanding the company in
which we were placed, and endeavoured to explain our situation, we were
required immediately after to be present at inspection of arms. We
declined, but an attempt was made to force us to obedience, first, by
the officers of the company, then, by those of the regiment; but,
failing to exact obedience of us, we were ordered by the colonel to be
tied, and, if we made outcry, to be gagged also, and to be kept so till
he gave orders for our release. After two or three hours we were
relieved and left under guard; lying down on the ground in the open air,
and covering ourselves with our blankets, we soon fell asleep from
exhaustion, and the fatigue of the day.

This morning the officers told us we must yield. We must obey and serve.
We were threatened great severities and even death. We seem perfectly at
the mercy of the military power, and, more, in the hands of the inferior
officers, who, from their being far removed from Washington, feel less
restraint from those Regulations of the Army, which are for the
protection of privates from personal abuse.

_26th._ [_9th_ month.]--Yesterday my mind was much agitated: doubts and
fears and forebodings seized me. I was alone, seeking a resting-place
and finding none. It seemed as if God had forsaken me in this dark hour;
and the Tempter whispered, that after all I might be only the victim of
a delusion. My prayers for faith and strength seemed all in vain.

But this morning I enjoy peace, and feel as though I could face
anything. Though I am as a lamb in the shambles, yet do I cry, "Thy will
be done," and can indeed say,--

    Passive to His holy will
    Trust I in my Master still
    Even though he slay me.

I mind me of the anxiety of our dear friends about home, and of their
prayers for us.

Oh, praise be to the Lord for the peace and love and resignation that
has filled my soul today! Oh, the passing beauty of holiness! There is
a holy life that is above fear; it is a close communion with Christ. I
pray for this continually but am not free from the shadow and the
tempter. There is ever present with us the thought that perhaps we shall
serve the Lord the most effectually by our death, and desire, if that be
the service He requires of us, that we may be ready and resigned.

REGIMENTAL HOSPITAL, 4th Vermont. _29th._ [_9th_ month.]--On the evening
of the 26th the Colonel came to us apologizing for the roughness with
which he treated us at first, which was, as he insisted, through
ignorance of our real character and position. He told us if we persisted
in our course, death would probably follow; though at another time he
confessed to P.D. that this would only be the extreme sentence of
court-martial.

He urged us to go into the hospital, stating that this course was
advised by Friends about New York. We were too well aware of such a fact
to make any denial, though it was a subject of surprise to us that he
should be informed of it. He pleaded with us long and earnestly, urging
us with many promises of indulgence and favour and attentions we found
afterwards to be untrue. He gave us till the next morning to consider
the question and report our decision. In our discussion of the subject
among ourselves, we were very much perplexed. If all his statements
concerning the ground taken by our Society were true, we seemed to be
liable, if we persisted in the course which alone seemed to us to be in
accordance with Truth, to be exposed to the charge of over-zeal and
fanaticism even among our own brethren. Regarding the work to be done in
hospital as one of mercy and benevolence, we asked if we had any right
to refuse its performance; and questioned whether we could do more good
by endeavouring to bear to the end a clear testimony against war, than
by labouring by word and deed among the needy in the hospitals and
camps. We saw around us a rich field for usefulness in which there were
scarce any labourers, and toward whose work our hands had often started
involuntarily and unbidden. At last we consented to a trial, at least
till we could make inquiries concerning the Colonel's allegations, and
ask the counsel of our friends, reserving the privilege of returning to
our former position.

At first a great load seemed rolled away from us; we rejoiced in the
prospect of life again. But soon there prevailed a feeling of
condemnation, as though we had sold our Master. And that first day was
one of the bitterest I ever experienced. It was a time of stern conflict
of soul. The voice that seemed to say, "Follow me," as I sought
guidance the night before, kept pleading with me, convincing of sin,
till I knew of a truth my feet had strayed from His path. The
Scriptures, which the day before I could scarcely open without finding
words of strength and comfort, seemed closed against me, till after a
severe struggle alone in the wood to which I had retired, I consented to
give up and retrace my steps in faith. But it was too late. L.M.M.
wishing to make a fair, honest trial, we were brought here--P.D. being
already here unwell. We feel we are erring; but scarce anything is
required of us and we wait to hear from Friends.

Of these days of going down into sin, I wish to make little mention. I
would that my record of such degradation be brief. We wish to come to an
understanding with our friends and the Society before we move, but it
does not seem that we can repress the upheavings of Truth in our
hearts. We are bruised by sin.

It is with pleasure I record we have just waited upon the Colonel with
an explanation of our distress of mind, requesting him to proceed with
court-martial. We were kindly and tenderly received. "If you want a
trial I can give it to you," he answered. The brigade has just marched
out to join with the division for inspection. After that we are to have
attention to our case.

P.M. There is particular cause for congratulation in the consideration
that we took this step this morning, when now we receive a letter from
H.D. charging us to faithfulness.

When lately I have seen dear L.M.M. in the thoroughness and patience of
his trial to perform service in hospital, his uneasiness and the
intensity of his struggle as manifested by his silence and disposition
to avoid the company of his friends, and seen him fail and declare to
us, "I cannot stay here," I have received a new proof, and to me a
strong one, because it is from the experimental knowledge of an honest
man, that no Friend, who is really such, desiring to keep himself clear
of complicity with this system of war and to bear a perfect testimony
against it, can lawfully perform service in the hospitals of the Army in
lieu of bearing arms.

_10th_ mo., _3d._--Today dawned fair and our Camp is dry again. I was
asked to clean the gun I brought, and declining, was tied some two hours
upon the ground.

_6th._ AT WASHINGTON.--At first, after being informed of our declining
to serve in his hospital, Colonel Foster did not appear altered in his
kind regard for us. But his spleen soon became evident. At the time we
asked for a trial by court-martial, and it was his duty to place us
under arrest and proceed with the preferring of his charges against us.
For a while he seemed to hesitate and consult his inferior officers, and
among them his Chaplain. The result of the conference was our being
ordered into our companies, that, separated, and with the force of the
officers of a company bearing upon us, we might the more likely be
subdued. Yet the Colonel assured L.M.M., interceding in my behalf, when
the lieutenant commanding my company threatened force upon me, that he
should not allow any personal injury. When we marched next day I was
compelled to bear a gun and equipments. My associates were more
fortunate, for, being asked if they would carry their guns, declined and
saw no more trouble from them. The captain of the company in which P.D.
was placed told him he did not believe he was ugly about it, and that he
could only put him under arrest and prefer charges against him. He
accordingly was taken under guard, where he lay till we left for here.

The next morning the men were busy in burnishing their arms. When I
looked toward the one I had borne, yellow with rust, I trembled in the
weakness of the flesh at the trial I felt impending over me. Before the
Colonel was up I knocked at his tent, but was told he was asleep,
though, through the opening, I saw him lying gazing at me. Although I
felt I should gain no relief from him, I applied again soon after. He
admitted me and, lying on his bed, inquired with cold heartlessness what
I wanted. I stated to him, that I could never consent to serve, and,
being under the war-power, was resigned to suffer instead all the just
penalties of the law. I begged of him release from the attempts by
violence to compel my obedience and service, and a trial, though likely
to be made by those having no sympathy with me, yet probably in a
manner comformable to law.

He replied that he had shown us all the favour he should; that he had,
now, turned us over to the military power and was going to let that take
its course; that is, henceforth we were to be at the mercy of the
inferior officers, without appeal to law, justice, or mercy. He said he
had placed us in a pleasant position, against which we could have no
reasonable objection, and that we had failed to perform our agreement.
He wished to deny that our consent was only temporary and conditional.
He declared, furthermore, his belief, that a man who would not fight for
his country did not deserve to live. I was glad to withdraw from his
presence as soon as I could.

I went back to my tent and lay down for a season of retirement,
endeavouring to gain resignation to any event. I dreaded torture and
desired strength of flesh and spirit. My trial soon came. The lieutenant
called me out, and pointing to the gun that lay near by, asked if I was
going to clean it. I replied to him, that I could not comply with
military requisitions, and felt resigned to the consequences. "I do not
ask about your feelings; I want to know if you are going to clean that
gun?" "I cannot do it," was my answer. He went away, saying, "Very
well," and I crawled into the tent again. Two sergeants soon called for
me, and taking me a little aside, bid me lie down on my back, and
stretching my limbs apart tied cords to my wrists and ankles and these
to four stakes driven in the ground somewhat in the form of an X.

I was very quiet in my mind as I lay there on the ground [soaked] with
the rain of the previous day, exposed to the heat of the sun, and
suffering keenly from the cords binding my wrists and straining my
muscles. And, if I dared the presumption, I should say that I caught a
glimpse of heavenly pity. I wept, not so much from my own suffering as
from sorrow that such things should be in our own country, where Justice
and Freedom and Liberty of Conscience have been the annual boast of
Fourth-of-July orators so many years. It seemed that our forefathers in
the faith had wrought and suffered in vain, when the privileges they so
dearly bought were so soon set aside. And I was sad, that one
endeavouring to follow our dear Master should be so generally regarded
as a despicable and stubborn culprit.

After something like an hour had passed, the lieutenant came with his
orderly to ask me if I was ready to clean the gun. I replied to the
orderly asking the question, that it could but give me pain to be asked
or required to do anything I believed wrong. He repeated it to the
lieutenant just behind him, who advanced and addressed me. I was
favoured to improve the opportunity to say to him a few things I wished.
He said little; and, when I had finished, he withdrew with the others
who had gathered around. About the end of another hour his orderly came
and released me.

I arose and sat on the ground. I did not rise to go away. I had not
where to go, nothing to do. As I sat there my heart swelled with joy
from above. The consolation and sweet fruit of tribulation patiently
endured. But I also grieved, that the world was so far gone astray, so
cruel and blind. It seemed as if the gospel of Christ had never been
preached upon earth, and the beautiful example of his life had been
utterly lost sight of.

Some of the men came about me, advising me to yield, and among them one
of those who had tied me down, telling me what I had already suffered
was nothing to what I must yet suffer unless I yielded; that human flesh
could not endure what they would put upon me. I wondered if it could be
that they could force me to obedience by torture, and examined myself
closely to see if they had advanced as yet one step toward the
accomplishment of their purposes. Though weaker in body, I believed I
found myself, through divine strength, as firm in my resolution to
maintain my allegiance to my Master.

The relaxation of my nerves and muscles after having been so tensely
strained left me that afternoon so weak that I could hardly walk or
perform any mental exertion.

I had not yet eaten the mean and scanty breakfast I had prepared, when I
was ordered to pack up my things and report myself at the lieutenant's
tent. I was accustomed to such orders and complied, little moved.

The lieutenant received me politely with, "Good-morning, Mr. Pringle,"
and desiring me to be seated, proceeded with the writing with which he
was engaged. I sat down in some wonderment and sought to be quiet and
prepared for any event.

"You are ordered to report to Washington," said he; "I do not know what
it is for." I assured him that neither did I know. We were gathered
before the Major's tent for preparation for departure. The regimental
officers were there manifesting surprise and chagrin; for they could not
but show both as they looked upon us, whom the day before they were
threatening to crush into submission, and attempting also to execute
their threats that morning, standing out of their power and under orders
from one superior to their Major Commanding E.M. As the bird uncaged,
so were our hearts that morning. Short and uncertain at first were the
flights of Hope. As the slave many times before us, leaving his yoke
behind him, turned from the plantations of Virginia and set his face
toward the far North, so we from out a grasp as close and as abundant in
suffering and severity, and from without the line of bayonets that had
so many weeks surrounded us, turned our backs upon the camp of the 4th
Vermont and took our way over the turnpike that ran through the tented
fields of Culpeper.

At the War Office we were soon admitted to an audience with the Adjutant
General, Colonel Townsend, whom we found to be a very fine man, mild and
kind. He referred our cases to the Secretary of War, Stanton, by whom we
were ordered to report for service to Surgeon General Hammond. Here we
met Isaac Newton, Commissioner of Agriculture, waiting for our arrival,
and James Austin of Nantucket, expecting his son, Charles L. Austin, and
Edward W. Holway of Sandwich, Mass., conscripted Friends like ourselves,
and ordered here from the 22nd Massachusetts.

We understand it is through the influence of Isaac Newton that Friends
have been able to approach the heads of Government in our behalf and to
prevail with them to so great an extent. He explained to us the
circumstance in which we are placed. That the Secretary of War and
President sympathized with Friends in their present suffering, and would
grant them full release, but that they felt themselves bound by their
oaths that they would execute the laws, to carry out to its full extent
the Conscription Act. That there appeared but one door of relief
open,--that was to parole us and allow us to go home, but subject to
their call again ostensibly, though this they neither wished nor
proposed to do. That the fact of Friends in the Army and refusing
service had attracted public attention so that it was not expedient to
parole us at present. That, therefore, we were to be sent to one of the
hospitals for a short time, where it was hoped and expressly requested
that we would consent to remain quiet and acquiesce, if possible, in
whatever might be required of us. That our work there would be quite
free from objection, being for the direct relief of the sick; and that
there we would release none for active service in the field, as the
nurses were hired civilians.

These requirements being so much less objectionable than we had feared,
we felt relief, and consented to them. I.N. went with us himself to the
Surgeon General's office, where he procured peculiar favours for us:
that we should be sent to a hospital in the city, where he could see us
often; and that orders should be given that nothing should interfere
with our comfort, or our enjoyment of our consciences.

Thence we were sent to Medical Purveyor Abbot, who assigned us to the
best hospital in the city, the Douglas Hospital.

The next day after our coming here Isaac Newton and James Austin came to
add to our number E.W.H. and C.L.A., so now there are five of us instead
of three. We are pleasantly situated in a room by ourselves in the upper
or fourth story, and are enjoying our advantages of good quarters and
tolerable food as no one can except he has been deprived of them.

[_10th_ month] _8th._--Today we have a pass to go out to see the city.

_9th._--We all went, thinking to do the whole city in a day, but before
the time of our passes expired, we were glad to drag ourselves back to
the rest and quiet of D.H. During the day we called upon our friend
I.N. in the Patent Office. When he came to see us on the 7th, he stated
he had called upon the President that afternoon to request him to
release us and let us go home to our friends. The President promised to
consider it over-night. Accordingly yesterday morning, as I.N. told us,
he waited upon him again. He found there a woman in the greatest
distress. Her son, only a boy of fifteen years and four months, having
been enticed into the Army, had deserted and been sentenced to be shot
the next day. As the clerks were telling her, the President was in the
War Office and could not be seen, nor did they think he could attend to
her case that day. I.N. found her almost wild with grief. "Do not
despair, my good woman," said he, "I guess the President can be seen
after a bit." He soon presented her case to the President, who exclaimed
at once, "That must not be, I must look into that case, before they
shoot that boy"; and telegraphed at once to have the order suspended.

I.N. judged it was not a fit time to urge our case. We feel we can
afford to wait, that a life may be saved. But we long for release. We do
not feel easy to remain here.

_11th._--Today we attended meeting held in the house of a Friend, Asa
Arnold, living near here. There were but four persons beside ourselves.
E.W.H. and C.L.A. showed their copy of the charges about to have been
preferred against them in court-martial before they left their regiment,
to a lawyer who attended the meeting. He laughed at the Specification of
Mutiny, declaring such a charge could not have been lawfully sustained
against them.

The experiences of our new friends were similar to ours, except they
fell among officers who usually showed them favour and rejoiced with
them in their release.

_13th._--L.M.M. had quite an adventure yesterday. He being fireman with
another was in the furnace room among three or four others, when the
officer of the day, one of the surgeons, passed around on inspection.
"Stand up," he ordered them, wishing to be saluted. The others arose;
but by no means L. The order was repeated for his benefit, but he sat
with his cap on, telling the surgeon he had supposed he was excused from
such things as he was one of the Friends. Thereat the officer flew at
him, exclaiming, he would take the Quaker out of him. He snatched off
his cap and seizing him by the collar tried to raise him to his feet;
but finding his strength insufficient and that L. was not to be
frightened, he changed his purpose in his wrath and calling for the
corporal of the guard had him taken to the guard-house. This was about
eleven A.M. and he lay there till about six P.M., when the surgeon in
charge, arriving home and hearing of it, ordered the officer of the day
to go and take him out, telling him never to put another man into the
guard-house while he was in charge here without consulting him. The
manner of his release was very satisfactory to us, and we waited for
this rather than effect it by our own efforts. We are all getting uneasy
about remaining here, and if our release do not come soon, we feel we
must intercede with the authorities, even if the alternative be
imprisonment.

The privations I have endured since leaving home, the great tax upon my
nervous strength, and my mind as well, since I have had charge of our
extensive correspondence, are beginning to tell upon my health and I
long for rest.

_20th._ We begin to feel we shall have to decline service as
heretofore, unless our position is changed. I shall not say but we
submit too much in not declining at once, but it has seemed most prudent
at least to make suit with Government rather than provoke the hostility
of their subalterns. We were ordered here with little understanding of
the true state of things as they really exist here; and were advised by
Friends to come and make no objections, being assured it was but for a
very brief time and only a matter of form. It might not have been wrong;
but as we find we do too much fill the places of soldiers (L.M.M.'s
fellow fireman has just left for the field, and I am to take his place,
for instance), and are clearly doing military service, we are
continually oppressed by a sense of guilt, that makes our struggles
earnest.

_21st._--I.N. has not called yet; our situation is becoming almost
intolerable. I query if patience is justified under the circumstances.
My distress of mind may be enhanced by my feeble condition of health,
for today I am confined to my bed, almost too weak to get downstairs.
This is owing to exposure after being heated over the furnaces.

_26th._--Though a week has gone by, and my cold has left me, I find I am
no better, and that I am reduced very low in strength and flesh by the
sickness and pain I am experiencing. Yet I still persist in going below
once a day. The food I am able to get is not such as is proper.

_11th_ mo., _5th._--I spend most of my time on my bed, much of it alone.
And very precious to me is the nearness unto the Master I am favoured to
attain to. Notwithstanding my situation and state, I am happy in the
enjoyment of His consolations. Lately my confidence has been strong, and
I think I begin to feel that our patience is soon to be rewarded with
relief; insomuch that a little while ago, when dear P.D. was almost
overcome with sorrow, I felt bold to comfort him with the assurance of
my belief, that it would not be long so. My mind is too weak to allow of
my reading much; and, though I enjoy the company of my companions a part
of the time, especially in the evening, I am much alone; which affords
me abundant time for meditation and waiting upon God. The fruits of this
are sweet, and a recompense for affliction.

_6th._--Last evening E.W.H. saw I.N. particularly on my behalf, I
suppose. He left at once for the President. This morning he called to
inform us of his interview at the White House. The President was moved
to sympathy in my behalf, when I.N. gave him a letter from one of our
Friends in New York. After its perusal he exclaimed to our friend, "I
want you to go and tell Stanton that it is my wish all those young men
be sent home at once." He was on his way to the Secretary this morning
as he called.

Later. I.N. has just called again informing us in joy that we are free.
At the War Office he was urging the Secretary to consent to our paroles,
when the President entered. "It is my urgent wish," said he. The
Secretary yielded; the order was given, and we were released. What we
had waited for so many weeks was accomplished in a few moments by a
Providential ordering of circumstances.

_7th._--I.N. came again last evening bringing our paroles. The
preliminary arrangements are being made, and we are to start this
afternoon for New York.

_Note._ Rising from my sick-bed to undertake this journey, which lasted
through the night, its fatigues overcame me, and upon my arrival in New
York I was seized with delirium from which I only recovered after many
weeks, through the mercy and favour of Him, who in all this trial had
been our guide and strength and comfort.



THE END



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