Sunday Dispatch

A BIT OF PRISON ROMANCE There has been quite an interesting event in front of our quarters this afternoon, which, at the instance of the officer himself, whose name I take the liberty to use in this connection, I will relate. Miss Martha Haines Butt, the authoress, from Norfolk, Va., to whom allusion was made upon her former visit to the prison, a few days since, again halted this afternoon opposite our quarters in a splendid coach. She was, as before, elegantly attired, and accompanied by a military officer. It was evident that she had come to see one of the prisoners, and it was quickly discovered that Capt. Roswell A. Fish, who arrived only a day or two since, was the fortunate object of this compliment.

He manifested a frenzy to get by the sentinels at the door to reach her carriage, but it was of no avail; he could not pass, even though she beckoned most daintily for him. He seized a piece of paper, and hastily scratching a few words, sent it to the carriage by the guard. It was amusing to watch the countenances of the military assemblage at the windows and doors, as they beheld with utter silence the avidity with which she opened the note; quick as thought she seized a pencil from the officer by her side and began to write. By this time the corporal of the guard arrived and relieved the agony of the captain by allowing him to pass from the sentinel to the carriage, when the parties very gracefully saluted each other. It was an interview so very polite and attractive, that it was a relief to the dull and sombre thoughts engendered by the monotony of an imprisonment and carried back the heart of many a spectator to the blissful period of his own early attachments. But to the point:

the dear captain, surrounded by an impudent guard, was compelled to close the interview, so intently watched by his prison associates, and he did this by a kiss of her hand, so bewitchingly bestowed that the young officer was greeted by one universal shout on returning to his quarters. The young lady, as the officers say, responded by an instant application of the smitten hand to her heart. I was amazed to learn in conversation with the gallant captain this evening that on this very day he was to have been married, and that on the day of his capture the colonel of his regiment had gone to Washington to obtain a furlough for him for that purpose. In view of the scene I had just witnessed, I inferred very naturally that the lady in question was the bride to be, but in reply to my inquiry he said, "No, oh, no, no! She is merely a watering-place acquaintance formed at Saratoga, which had been continued by accidental meetings in Washington, and various acts of mutual good understanding and politeness ever since.—Ely's Narrative of his Imprisonment."