Captain R. E. Park:
Dear sir—I have lately learned that you are a prisoner at the Old Capitol, and too delicate to make known your wants. Now let me beg, as a great favor, that you will write me immediately, and call on me for whatever you may need. I shall attend promptly and with the greatest pleasure to your commands. You don't know how highly we ladies feel ourselves honored to be able to add in any way to your comfort. The longer your list the better I'll be pleased.
Very respectfully,
Miss Eliza Jamison,
This charming, elegantly expressed letter had been reforwarded from Washington, and its kind, cordial words gave me unqualified pleasure. The generous writer is one of those earthly angels from that glorious city of angelic women, Baltimore. My astonishment was profound, for I had never heard of Miss Eliza Jamison before, and could not divine how she had heard of me. I promptly and gratefully responded to her highly valued note, telling her candidly that my greatest want was a few greenbacks, adding that a cheerful young lady correspondent, who would help to revive my spirits and drive away unwelcome thoughts of my depressing surroundings, would prove very acceptable.
March 3d to 6th—The parapet between our pen and that of the privates, on which the sentinels walk, had several ladies and gentlemen walking upon it a day or two ago, and they looked kindly and compassionately upon the emaciated, ragged, suffering Rebels in the two pens. One of the ladies carried her handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away the generous tears, as she gazed pityingly upon the abject misery and wretchedness before her. I hear they were Delaware ladies, and that Senator Saulsbury was one of the gentlemen in the party. If these sympathizing people could spend a few hours inside the pens, among the prisoners, and witness the distressing evidences of hunger to be constantly seen there, they would have pitied us with truest pity, and not blamed the darring, starving men for oft-repeated attempts to escape by swimming, under friendly cover of night, across the bay to the Delaware shore. Hunger seems to have dissipated the pride and self-respect of many of the prisoners. They will perform the most menial services for the most trivial gift or smallest articles of food. When the bunks and floors are swept, pieces of bread crusts and crumbs and stale
