The Confederate prisoners at Chicago.
The Chicago
Tribune, of February 22d, has a long account of the arrival at that place of the
Confederate soldiers captured at
Fort Donelson.
We copy a portion of the ‘"incidents:"’
Notwithstanding the present haggard and war-worn appearance of the prisoners, were they washed and shaven, and otherwise recruited after their late fatigues, they would be a noble looking set of men. They were uniformly courteous in their intercourse with visitors — much more so, we regret to say, than a few blackguards who visited them.
The Tennessee men whom we met invariably said that they had enough of fighting, and if they could be liberated would at once settle down to a quiet life.
Many expressed a wish to settle in
Illinois.
The
Mississippians, when interrogated simply said that they would wait till they ‘"got well out of this scrape"’ before they said anything about it — their air and bearing, though courteous, betokening that they were ready to continue the fight and carry it to the bitter end.
One of the captives, a German of fine form, and used to war from his childhood, sought out a captain in
Col. Voss's cavalry regiment almost immediately upon entering the camp, and made known his desire to enlist.
He said he had been compelled to fight with
Floyd and other men of his stripe, against the flag he loved, and now he wanted to make amends by fighting on his own account against the traitors and their serpent colors.
We left the captain arguing the question of propriety with his commanding officer, who probably advised the German to let the matter rest as it was for a time.
A little, three-foot-six fellow, apparently about thirteen years old, was in one of the regiments.
Some one suggested that he must be a drummer, or something of that sort.--‘"No sir,"’ said he, ‘"I shoulder a musket, by G--!"’ He had certainly attained to maturity in profanity, if nothing else.
A laughable incident occurred, which will perhaps teach the offender that a rebel may be as quick at a repartee as any other man. A soldier had given a Scotch bonnet to a rebel who had lost his head-gear.
An officer of the Scotch regiment, who chanced to notice it, commenced bantering him about disgracing a Scotch bonnet by placing it on a rebel's head.
‘"Thank God!"’ exclaimed Reb., ‘"it is only a matter of necessity.
I had rather be in h--11 than be a Scotchman!"’--That officer suddenly came to the conclusion that he had business in some other part of the camp.
Nothing observed by the Secession prisoners seemed to astonish them more than to see the manner in which our citizens visiting them were dressed.
Some one of the Mississippians, who at home was considered somewhat of a wag, said: ‘"I rather conclude it is the Sabbath day up here; the people all seem to be dressed in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes!"’ Seeing that an inquisitive Yankee was eyeing him rather sharply, the same man remarked, ‘"aside:"’ ‘"Wonder if that man ever saw me before!
If he hasn't, it's all square, as I never saw him until now, and I don't care if I never see him more."’ And the joker turned his head without a smile, and accepted a ping of tobacco from a reporter who had gone to camp with his pockets filled for the purpose of distributing to the new arrivals.
Some few of the prisoners, we have heard, still appear to harbor a sort of bitterness of spirit toward our people and institutions.--It is related that last evening a citizen who was talking with a squad from
Tennessee overheard the following dialogue between a tall, lank Texan and a short, stub-shot specimen from
Alabama:
Texan — Well, Bill, I've changed my opinion of the
Northern people I come among them.
to they were
cannibals, but I see they are not. I've changed — I have!
Bill — Well, perhaps
you have changed, but I have not, and never will.
I think as highly of the cursed
Yankees now as I ever did — but no higher.
