“Certainly, madam. You can see the two prisoners mentioned, or any one you wish, and take with you what you please.” An easy job certainly! My heart grew light; I arose to go, thanking the judge cordially. He said: “One moment, madam.” I went back, and he handed me a pen, ink, and slip of paper, saying: “Just sign this, please. It is of no consequence at all--a mere matter of form--only you can not see your friends without it.” There spread out before me was the ironclad oath! Without a moment’s hesitation I replied: “The oath, Judge Turner! Am I to sign that? I can not! and never will!” He smiled apologetically and said: “It is of no consequence--only a little form that we have to insist on. Sign it, and you can go to your friends.” “If it is of no consequence to your side, provost, why should it be of so much to mine that I can not see my friends without it?” He smiled, and still held the pen out to me. “No! never!” I said. “Then I can not help you. I am sorry. You must apply at military headquarters.” He kindly directed me to the same. I hurried down the steps, jumped into my hack, and drove quickly to the War Department. Here I made my request again and again met with the same polite consent backed with the oath. Again I refused and turned to go, when one of the officers kindly suggested: “Make application to the officer at the Old Capitol. He may permit you to see the prisoners without oath, though I fear not.” As there was not much time left before my train would start for Baltimore, I urged my driver to do his best, and we sped on in haste until we stopped before the gloomy, formidable-looking prison of the Old Capitol. With the permission of the guard I entered. The officer in command received me with kindness and courtesy, and with his consent I was about to ascend the stairs when he extended his hand, saying: “The oath, if you please. I presume you took it at the War Department, and have your pass.” Again I was foiled. This was my last chance. There was no use pleading, and I was in despair. I leaned on a chair to rest a moment before leaving the room, defeated. I had not a word to say, and I did not say a word. I suppose my deep dejection touched him. I was about to go when he said with great kindness: “Wait here near these steps. I will send up an order, and if he is there, he can come to the railing and you can speak to him, and send him anything you wish. But you can not go up.”