The Record of a Quaker Conscience, Cyrus Pringle's Diary: With an Introduction by Rufus M. JonesPringle, Cyrus G. (Cyrus Guernsey)
Religion
The Record of a Quaker Conscience, Cyrus Pringle's Diary: With an Introduction by Rufus M. Jones
Pringle, Cyrus G. (Cyrus Guernsey)
Draft; Society of Friends
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
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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