RECOGNIZED BY TEXANS AT RICHMOND THEATRE.RECOGNIZED BY TEXANS AT RICHMOND THEATRE.
A majority of the other "refugees" belonging to this patriotic band of exiles were composed principally of recruits who had been recently drawn to Richmond from their shovel and pick employment on a railroad contract, on what is now the Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad. This sense of duty to the suffering and abused South of their adoption, was due to the fact, as we all understood it then, that the bounty and pay of the Maryland refugee was very much greater than that of a laborer in a ditch while the work was not nearly so fatiguing. In fact, and in brief, the refugee business was very much of a fraud on the Confederacy in our company. To be more explicit, I will enumerate, from memory, the several nationalities which were attached to our "piece," which may be considered a representative of the Maryland refugees in the Confederacy.
Our No. 1 and No. 2—which all old soldiers will remember, are the figures that represent the two men who stand at the muzzle of an old-fashioned gun, one of whom swabs her out, while the other rams the charge home—were two stalwart Irish brothers, Mike and Terry by name. The former had been a boss of a wheelbarrow gang somewhere out on the railway in Virginia—one of those blustering Irish fellows who are so full of extravagant and positive talk. He was eternally and forever complaining about something or somebody, and I remember that he gave the officers and men more trouble on this account than all the rest. He had, as the leader of his gang, brought a dozen of his Irish recruits into our organization at one draft, and felt as if he must continue to be their boss. His men were also disposed to recognize "Mike's" authority, as being superior to that of the military officers. A good deal of discipline was necessary to explain to them the changed condition in their affairs. His brother Terry was a strapping big fellow, whose position at the gun was alongside of his brother. In disposition and temperament, Terry was the very opposite of Mike, being a quiet, sullen fellow, whom I do not remember to have heard speak a dozen words beyond mere monosyllables. He was, however, a tricky, treacherous fellow, andthe pair of big gray mules gave the team of Maryland colts any amount of trouble and fun.
The man whose duty it was to prick the cartridge and attend the vent was a native of Richmond—a fat, boyish fellow of eighteen full of fun and laugh all the time. My recollection is, that he had been a butcher's clerk somewhere. He represented what may be called the "poor white trash," as it was termed by the Southern people.
He was probably attracted by the bounty and the chance to ride on a gun-carriage, as we found out very soon he was too blamed lazy to walk. Another peculiarity of this recruit, that we subsequently discovered, and which made it interesting to the rest of us, was, that he was subject to epileptic fits, and probably for this cause he had been rejected by the more respectable Virginia regiments.
When he first took one of those spells, during the excitement occasioned by the drill-master hustling him around a little, we all felt that something dreadful had occurred in our midst, and every man in the camp was crawling over the other in their efforts to wait upon and assist the poor fellow. He lay on the ground, gnawing and twisting himself in the most horrible way, frothing at the mouth in the meanwhile in a frightful manner.
It was on such occasions as this that big Mike showed his usefulness in the company. He would grab the big Virginian lubber by each hand and hold him "steady," as if he was a mere baby in his hands, giving orders meanwhile, as if he was a captain on a man-of-war in a great storm.
The other fellow, who pulled the lanyard, was a slender, good-looking man, who had been a sailor who had traveled around the world, and did not seem to have any nationality. The war had found him blockaded at Norfolk, and, being unable to get out to sea, he had gravitated into Richmond, where he was induced to join the refugee band by the hard logic of an empty pocket, a hungry belly, and a show of money as bounty. He and I became fast friends, and, as a singular coincidence, I mention here that we both joined that battery with the same intent—i. e., to use it as a means of escape North; and though we were together and slept together every night for months, neither knew the other's thoughts on thesubject until the morning we met, accidentally, while both were escaping through the Rebel pickets.
Our No. 5, whose duty it was to carry the cartridge from the caisson to the gun, was a queer character. He was a man of about forty-five years of age, tall and angular, with that odd cast of countenance that one often sees among the lower order of Germans. He was not exactly a German, but had an accent similar to the German; his face was broad and square, the lower part of it being apparently broader than the upper. I think he must have been a Russian or a Polander. He was not a successful No. 5, because his motions were too stiff and lumbering for that position; and, in consequence of his stupidity, he was being prodded all the time when on drill. He became, however, a very useful member to the company.
By some mysterious expressions from the officers, we were led to believe at first that he might have been a disguised "juke" or count, exiled from his native land, and who desired to serve his adopted home with this band of devoted refugees. We learned, however, that he had simply been a professor in his own country in—a barbershop. We were all glad enough to ascertain this fact; also, that he served his time as a tailor—to be sure his "time" as a tailor had been "put in" at a certain penitentiary—but he was a good and useful refugee all the same, because he was detailed to shave the company and, also, to do over the baggy gray uniforms which were furnished us.
The "Colonel" and I were the first to take advantage of this information, as to the "juke's" accomplishments, to have him refit the gray blouses and trousers which we were to wear. We procured some black stuff for trimming the cuffs of our coats, because one of the Lanyards' lady friends had told him that the black and gray matched nicely together. We also had our Sergeant's and Corporal's stripes of bright red stitched on to our sleeves, and a narrow binding of red was sewed down in front of the coat. It was in this rather neatly-trimmed Rebel uniform that I boldly walked the streets of Richmond, and secured entrance to houses and places of interest, from which I had heretofore been excluded, during the rest of my eventful stay in that city.
It will be seen that, in this account of the personnel of one section of the so-called Maryland Battery, there was but theonegenuine Maryland refugee in its outfit, outside of Elkton, and that was the Sergeant, who is the "Colonel" of our story. I was, of course, supposed to be another Marylander, but it will be seen that the much-vaunted "flower of the South," which composed the Confederate armies, was very much like the "flower of the North" in its actual composition.
The other sections of our battery were composed principally of the aforesaid "recruits" from the railway laborers, who were mostly refugees from Ireland and Germany.
Our other lieutenant was a Mr. Claiborne, one of the genuine sons of the South, a native of Mississippi, and as clever and courteous a young gentleman as it has ever been my pleasure to meet. I recall my acquaintance with Lieutenant Claiborne, though formed in this surreptitious way, as one of the most agreeable in which I have ever shared. If it shall so happen that this writing may meet his own eye, or that of his family or friends—and I have given the correct name—he will understand some of my actions toward him, which were at the time, to say it briefly, inexplicable. Lieutenant Claiborne, I think, followed the Confederate fortunes to the end—I am sure he did so if he lived to see the end—for, without a doubt, he was earnestly, though quietly, sincere in his devotion to the cause of the South.
The Captain of the company had been, as I understood it, a lawyer from Baltimore. He was a small man in stature, small in mind, and about aslittleand trifling in every way as any soldier that I have ever met.
Perhaps some allowance should be made for the Captain on account of the fact that he was a cripple. He was born, I believe, with one leg shorter than the other—wore what is known as a club foot; that is, one shoe was filled with a cork sole, which raised his foot three or four inches from the ground. He walked with a cane, and sometimes used two, and apparently walked with difficulty. His face wore an expression of pain or sourness that is peculiar to many persons whom I have met that are similarly afflicted.
In justice to the Captain, it may be inferred that, on account of his bodily infirmity, he had been reared in such a way that everywhim was gratified, and he was petted and spoiled until he became in nature and disposition a veritable tyrant, as all pets are. We understood that he came of a first-class Maryland family, and that he had been highly educated at his home, where he had become a successful attorney. Our impressions in this regard were amply confirmed by our association; and the fact that our Captain had great influence at the Rebel War Department was undisputed. The Captain himself recognized his importance, and was of the temperament that inclined to make the most of his advantages.
There was a disposition on the part of our first Lieutenant, Elkton, to resist the Captain's severe exercise of his authority and overbearing manner; and in this rebellion within a rebellion, we of this section unanimously sustained our Lieutenant. Mr. Claiborne, the second Lieutenant, was also in constant friction with the Captain, and, as his squad sustained him, also, we were in hot water right along.
The Captain became a cross, surly, revengeful man. He knew nothing whatever of military drill and the requirements, and was narrow-minded enough to meddle and interfere with the trifling details, which should have been left to the subordinate officers.
Big Mike, of our section, was one of the fellows who had a grievance, because he had not been made sergeant in charge of the gun, with his own squad of Irish to work it, instead of my Colonel. He took every complaint to this sour-faced, crippled Captain, who, in an unmilitary manner, entertained his private growling complaint against the officers and the rest of the company. He would invite Mike into his quarters, where he would discuss with him the minor affairs of the company. Any old soldier will see how this sort of thing would work; and if any imagine for a moment that all the Southern soldiers were a "band of brothers," harmoniously bound together, fighting only against the Yankee invaders, they are very much mistaken.
I have seen more of the ugly, bitter jealousy between Rebel officers, and severe criticism of Jeff Davis and his generals, in an association of nine months among them, than I did subsequently in three years between Stanton and Halleck and all the commanders of the armies of the Potomac.
Our company was quartered in the Fair Grounds, on the outskirts of Richmond, which in after years became widely known as "Camp Lee." A high board fence enclosed several acres of ground; inside this enclosure were a number of temporary wooden sheds, which had been turned into barracks for the Confederate soldiers.
Troops were arriving at this camp from the South every day; and as fast as they were organized or suitably provided with arms and clothing, they were shipped on the cars, which ran right by the grounds, to the Rebel Army at Manassas or thereabouts. I was always glad to see the trains stop to load up some of the troops for the North, because I felt, every time I saw it, that our turn to go would soon come, and I should soon be at the front again, from whence I could easily skip over the line into Washington City.
The time, during these days, was usually occupied in a daily routine of military life. Officers and men occupied comfortable quarters at Camp Lee, in the barracks. There was a roll-call every morning, a very good breakfast, then a couple of hours' drill at the one old iron cannon, which was all that the entire camp possessed. Each of the sections took turns at this one piece. So it was, that, between us all, we managed to keep it hot pretty near all day. This drill was a regular circus. As the gunner, I did not have very much exercise. Lanyard, who stood by me, and I, had so much fun together over the two big Irishmen, who would so violently ram home the imaginary charges of powder and ball and swing the big swab around as wildly as if it was a little shilleleh. Fatty, the Virginia refugee, whose place was across from us, was full of fun himself, and kept us all amused by his antics during the drill—holding his fingers to his ears and winking and jumping as if a charge had actually been fired and the rebound was dangerous. The two big Irish brothers were always in a sweat and swearing at the disguised "juke," because he was so dignified in his bearing that he could not be made to see the necessity of rushing frantically from the limber, holding an imaginary cartridge in his hand. It, perhaps, seemed too absurd for a man of his dignity, age and clumsy bearing to be compelled to run around the gun holding out his empty hands, as if carrying a ten-pound shot in them, which he was supposed to deliver in like imaginary manner.
My duty was to sight the piece, and I learned to get that part ofthe drill down so fine that I was able, on short notice, to hit the same knot-hole in the fence, twenty feet distant, every time.
The number of Yankees that we killed with that gun—in imagination—far outnumbered all that were afterward slaughtered by all of General Alexander's Rebel Artillery. The Captain somehow got a notion that I was the only person in the company who could use pen and ink. This was not very complimentary to the rest of the company, because I've not, in all these years, learned how to write properly; but I was, in consequence, detailed as a company clerk, or as a private secretary to the Captain, and from this assignment, until we took the field, I had what is vulgarly called—a snap.
I was quartered thenceforth in the Captain's room, except when off duty, when I would quickly join the Colonel and Lanyard in their barracks. My duties were not at all onerous; on the other hand, I became relieved from all details for drill guard, police duty, and a hundred and one other little "turns" that catch everybody in the ranks, both in the Rebel and Union armies. It was my business to do all the company's clerical work: I filled out requisitions for commissary supplies, kept the roster, made a daily report for the Captain to somebody who was the General in command at the camp at that time.
One day the Captain notified the men, as we were at evening roll-call, that he had engaged a doctor for the exclusive benefit of the company, who would accompany us as our surgeon. Everybody was glad to hear this, as we had experienced a good bit of sickness already while in camp. The Captain wound up his speech with the incidental observation that a dollar or two would be retained from each man's pay to compensate this private surgeon. There was surprise, and the parade was dismissed and the men reassembled to growl. Big Mike then took a turn at making a speech, inciting rebellion against the Captain's arbitrary orders. It resulted in a regular Irish row upon the Captain ordering Mike's arrest and imprisonment in the guard-house. Before we got through with it, the whole of the bold refugees were under the guns of some of the other troops, that had been called upon to quell the disturbance.
It was lots of fun to Fatty and Lanyard, but for my part I'd rather get into a real battle than to become mixed up in an Irish fist fight.
There were some horses in camp belonging to the several officers who were quartered out there. Our Captain had his own, a finely-bred animal, which he rode to town and back every day. On account of the deformity of his limbs or hips, it was necessary that he should be almost lifted into the saddle, which was made of a particular shape suited to him. Because of this necessity for having someone always with him, I was selected by the Captain, with whom I had become a favorite, to accompany him nearly every day on a second horse. He almost always rode straight to the War Department, and I went along with him as far as I could. In this way I was able to keep up safely my silent watch on the Rebel War Office, rarely missing a day during our stay in Camp Lee on which I did not get to town with the Captain.
My gray uniform had been neatly fitted by the "juke," and my way of wearing my blouse coat-tails tucked inside my trousers had so pleased the Captain that he had ordered every man to wear his clothes as I did. This style of dress gave me a sort of Garibaldi appearance, and I fancy that, as I rode my horse fairly well, from an early training in Western Texas, I made a pretty creditable appearance on the streets of Richmond as a Rebel soldier boy.
It was in this disguise that, I may safely assert, I openly visitedevery single point of interest in and around Richmond.
I felt so perfectly secure and safe, that I had again become reckless and careless.
By reason of my close association with the Captain, as his private secretary or company clerk, I was able to secure from him his written permit to visit town in the evening. The Colonel (or Sergeant), Mr. Lanyard and myself had naturally gravitated toward each other, and visits to town after dark were usually made by this congenial trio in one group, but we didn't always return together.
The old Colonel and Lanyard were the real Philistines, and I may safely put all their night raids upon them. Whenever the Colonel or Lanyard wished to go to town, one of them would come to me, as the "Adjutant of their Corps," as the Colonel used to say, and in their seductive manner ask me to write out a pass for three and get the "old man" to sign it. The Captain had gotten into the way of signing so many of the blank forms, that it was my dailyduty to submit to him, his signature was easily obtained to further our little schemes.
Of the great number and variety of troops, probably the most popular, as a general thing, were the refugees from Maryland.
For some months after the first battle, the ladies of the very best old families of Richmond were in the habit of making daily visits to the camps of the troops about the city.
There was a crack battalion of "gentlemen" soldiers from South Carolina that came to town during my stay, whose regiment I've forgotten, but my impression is that it was Hampton's South Carolina Battalion. Their presence created quite a furore among the ladies of Richmond, and the dress-parade in the evening seemed to bring half the town out in carriages and in droves of pedestrians. These fellows wore a fancy uniform, and, without a word of exaggeration, I may say every private in the battalion was provided with a body servant—in most cases a likely boy, perhaps one of the slaves with whom the soldier had played as a child, was now sent along with him to the war to take care of the young master.
Our Colonel didn't like the attention that was being given to the South Carolina boys; perhaps he felt a little bit envious or jealous, as he observed to a lady:
"These fellows have brought along their niggers to carry umbrellas over them while they fight."
While Lanyard thought: "It's most likely the nigger is there to fix up their cocktails."
I have, myself, seen refined ladies in our camp, with sleeves rolled up and huge aprons covering their fine dresses, assisting the troopers to bake their biscuit and bread. The younger and better-looking ladies were often to be seen at camp, with baskets in hand, laying out bountiful spreads in the barrack "dining-room."
The appearance of these ladies at camp always put the Colonel on his mettle—he would go about our part of the quarters, his actions totally altered from his usual slow and quiet manner.
Our sailor-boy chum, whom we called Lanyard, had not enjoyed the society of ladies so much as the Colonel, probably on account of his sea-faring life, and was rather inclined to resent the intrusion of the ladies. Through the Colonel's gallantry and cheek, our little mess was pretty well remembered by the visiting sisters.
It was through visits of this character that we became acquainted with a nice young lady, whom we will call Capitola, because that wasn't her name. She was a typical Southern girl. I can not describe her, except to say that she was a beautiful brunette, who had attended boarding school somewhere near Baltimore, and probably through this fact she became interested in the Maryland refugees. As I have said, the Colonel was a gallant fellow, and also a good manager, who was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity this pretty girl's visits to our camp afforded. She, of course, made her visits in company with a bevy of other pretty girls, some of whom were equally as handsome as herself, but Capitola isthegirl of this part of our story.
One day our fair visitors made a special call on our officers to notify us, in their charming way, of an entertainment which was to be given at one of the halls in the city, to which Marylanders especially were invited. The Colonel in his courteous way accepted the invitation for us.
When the ladies were ready to return, the Colonel persistently escorted them to the gate—as he always did—while we bashful boys stood back and envied his easy manners, as he escorted them away from us. He always came back to us with a broad grin on his face, but, kept a taunting silence as to the conversation that seemed to be so interesting and amusing.
We put in the balance of that day preparing for the evening's entertainment. As a general thing, we were demoralized after the visit and could do nothing else. It so happened that it rained one of those cold, misty, half-rain and half-sleet storms, that are so disagreeable always, and especially so when they interfere with one's efforts to get himself up in his best shape. The storm did not, however, prevent a full attendance at the ball, for it was a sort of ball or reception, after some introductory addresses, accompanied by the music of "Dixie" and "Maryland, my Maryland."
Mrs. President Davis was present. Though I had frequently seen her, she never looked to my eyes other than a very ordinary matronly lady.
It was a tableau, in which our girl was representing "Maryland enslaved." She was attired, not exactly in the costume of the Greek slave, but in a sombre mourning garb, with her head bowed as ifin great sorrow and distress. She walked on to the stage, and, with a pathetic appeal, lifted toward heaven as beautiful a face as I have ever seen, stretching out her bared arms, which were shackled by chains. It was a beautiful and a striking picture, presented with great effect, and I don't suppose there was a person in the vast crowd who did not feel ready to make a desperate effort to release the pretty Maryland girl from those dreadful chains. I'm quite sure I should have done so if I'd had the opportunity, and would have been glad to have picked "Maryland" up and carried her away from such dreadful people, but we were not to be given this privilege.
At the proper moment, Mr. President Davis stepped forward, and, like an accomplished actor, played his part excellently well, wrenching the chains from "Maryland" and setting her free. "Maryland" horrified all the battery boys by immediately throwing her arms around her rescuer.
"We three roughish chaps together," came away from that show with our empty heads in a whirl. It was still sleeting and quite cold. Lanyard, with an assumed shudder, proposed that we go to some saloon to get something hot to prevent our taking cold.
I have never been drunk in my life. I say this here, because a good many persons who will read this will naturally think that any person who has "been around" as much as I, must at some time have been full. Especially as I am an old soldier, I know that some persons will laugh at this statement as a joke; but it's a sober fact. I never was drunk, but I came mighty near it that night in Richmond.
Lanyard was familiar with all the best places to "get something," and took us into a cozy, warm room, where there was a good, cheerful fire blazing. On one side of the room was the bar—one of those old-fashioned high counters—but you all know what a bar is like, so I won't attempt a description of such a place to old soldiers. On this counter was a large china bowl beautifully decorated on the outside, while within was floating a mixture that I had never seen before. On inquiry, I was informed by the bartender, with a significant grin at the Colonel, which I afterward recalled, that the mixture was Virgina apple-jack.
You don't know what that is? No, I think it has gone out ofdate, or perhaps its concoction is one of the lost arts. There were apples—roasted apples—floating in a sea of foam, that gave forth a most delightful fragrance. I was curious about the stuff, and being assured by Lanyard that it was a sort of cooked cider, that was made in Virginia as a temperance drink for those who were opposed to hard cider, I, in my unsuspecting innocence, partook of a mug full of the hot stuff. It was not hard to take, being quite pleasant to the taste, and, the evening being so cold and wet, I was prevailed upon to poke my nose into another mug of the apple tea, "just to keep from taking cold."
We all sat down at an adjoining table to await our order of fried oysters, the two companions becoming quite hilarious over their gin, in a way, which I recalled afterwards, as quite significant.
The room was quite warm, and, as I began to dry out in its atmosphere, I became, I thought, too warm, and said as much, which my companions passed off in their careless way with a laugh.
When I attempted to get on to my feet, for the first time in my life my head felt a little bit dizzy, and I had to support myself as I stood to get a proper balance. The table began to move, as if impelled by some unseen power; in looking up, the fire had grown into three or four different fires in as many different places; there were several hundred bottles behind the bar, and realizing in an instant what was coming, I made a sudden rush for the door, staggering through the room, amid the laughter of the Colonel andLanyard, who urged me to sit down; but I had not yet lost my head, and refused to stop until I got outside, when I leaned against the door until I cooled off.
It was a close call, but the Federal Spy didn't lose his head in Richmond that night.
While it may very often become expedient for a spy, while perambulating in an enemy's country, to drink socially with those with whom he desires to communicate, it is always a dangerous expedient, because, of all persons, a spy requires a cool and clear head.
Although these Confederate soldiers, with whom I was that night associated, had not the slightest suspicion of my true character and purposes, yet, if I had been made foolishly drunk by them, there is no telling what my loosened tongue might have done for me. We were—all three of us—very much "gone" on the enslaved beauty, and under such softening influences, at this particular time, a very light dose of Virginia "apple-jack," added to the "Maryland" influence, would have completely upset us all.
In fact, I was in greater danger of losing my heart than my head. The beautiful tableau which we had just witnessed, coupled with the presence of refined and lovely ladies, accompanied by the sweet music of Maryland, had more effectually intoxicated my senses than the seductive "apple-jack."
It will be remembered that in our set was the Lieutenant, who was supposed to have been a staid married man at home in Maryland, and it would hardly be fair now to print his desperate efforts to cut out the boys of his company, simply because he was an officer. We were only able to defeat his intrigue by bringing to our aid the gallant and handsome Second Lieutenant, a dark-eyed Mississippi gentleman, but he, with base ingratitude, took unfair advantage of the opportunities we had afforded him and used his big black eyes and seductive smiles to captureour girl—and she, the beautiful but uncertain Capitola, the friend of the Marylandrefugees, surrendered to our Mississippi Lieutenant, and there was great trouble and heart-burning in that Rebel battery ever after.
My undertakings and surroundings in Richmond were not exactly adapted to the production of humorous or funny effects, but I had lots of fun, all the same, though I was not sent there for that purpose.
I went about the city during daylight in the garb of a Confederate soldier, carrying in my pocket the pass of the commanding officer at Camp Lee, which was furnished me freely through my Maryland Captain's influence.
General Winder, who became afterward notorious as the Provost-Marshal-General of Richmond and keeper of Libby Prison, was a Maryland man, and it so happened that he had known our Captain intimately while the two lived together in Baltimore. This was a most fortunate circumstance for my schemes, as the first endorsement I had taken General Winder was of a personal character from his friend, our Captain, and thereafter I became solid with General Winder as long as I remained in Richmond.
I was frequently tempted to go home; indeed, I had several times come to the conclusion, from my own observation, that there was to be no advance into Maryland, and that I might as well quit and go home; but, again, I really felt as if I must accomplishsomethingfirst. I had stayed away so long, and had done nothing of importance, that I began to feel that it would be a degradation to crawl back home and have to explain to every person I knew where I had been and why I had been there.
I wanted to go back when I should be made welcome. I confess right here that, since our pleasant acquaintance with the ladies of Richmond had been formed, I was becoming more content to remain longer in exile. The presence, and particularly the bright smiles and winning ways of our "Capitola" was a very great attraction.
I did not go about Richmond as a tramp or a peddler, as is the usual method of spies we read about in novels, but, instead, I personated a high-toned Maryland youth—dressed myself in the grayest of gray uniform, adding all the red trimmings that my rank as Corporal permitted. I rode a good horse, and, in my capacity of Private Secretary or Orderly to our lame Captain, enjoyed unusual facilities. During the daytime I took advantage of all these circumstances, and had my eyes and wits about me, while the night, in the company of our trio, was usually spent "about town," where I met some of the best people, who welcomed us to their houses as Marylanders exiled from our homes. I also encountered among others some of the very worst class of citizens.
As I have before stated, our Captain frequently visited the War Office, and I was nearly always taken along him, as he, on account of the stiffness of one of his legs, was unable to mount or dismount his horse without assistance. I learned, through this association with him, that the influence which he controlled at headquarters, and which enabled him—a cripple—to obtain such a good and much-sought-after position in the army over the heads of others, was derived, in part at least, from some relationship with Mr. Judah P. Benjamin, the Secretary of War for the Confederates.
Mr. Benjamin, it will be remembered, was a close friend of Mr. Davis.
As the fall was now well advanced into winter, the weather was daily becoming colder, the rains were more frequent, and once or twice we had some signs of snow, and occasionally that most disagreeable of all weathers—sleet, rain and cold, all at the same time. We understood, generally, that it was now getting too late in the season for a fall or winter invasion of Maryland.
I had not learned enough of the art or science of war at that time to know that there were any seasons for Army operations.
One day, while standing in the hall door of the War Department Office, waiting, as was my custom, for the Captain to come around, I was aroused from the indifference, which had grown upon me, by overhearing two persons, who were passing me, talking together excitedly about Fort Pickens and Pensacola. As we had been hearing nothing at all about Fort Pickens during these summer and fall months, I had almost made up mind that the place had been overlooked.
As may be imagined, I was not anxious on my own account to have the subject revived during my stay in Richmond. When I heard the word "Pickens," which to my ears was like a shot in the rear, I was instantly on the alert, and watched most eagerly the movements of the two gentlemen, whose discussion had attracted my attention. They passed along out of the building and togetherwalked up the street and were gone out of my sight. It was evident from their not paying any attention to my presence, that their conversation about Pickens did not have any reference to me or my connection with the affairs.
I felt the least bit uneasy, however, and, while I stood about the War Office in Richmond that day, the terrible thought passed through my brain, "Had I in any manner given myself away, and was I being taken to the Department by our Captain for the purpose of entrapping or identifying me?"
It does not take very long for these dreadful thoughts to get possession of one's brain, and they do grow most wonderfully into the wildest fears and fancies in less time than it takes to write the words that will explain the incident. I waited and watched most anxiously about the square in front of the office, where our horses were tied, for the appearance of our Captain. He was not in the building at that time, I learned upon inquiring of some of the clerks. He was most likely further down town, or with General Winder. It was our custom to hitch our horses at this same place every day, when, after dismounting, the Captain went his way, while I did as I pleased also, it being understood always that at or near a certain time we were to remount at this place and together return to Camp Lee.
That evening he was unusually late getting around, and when I saw him limping along, his cane pounding the pavement with more than ordinary vigor, I knew I should have to lift the old man bodily on to his horse. He was always more communicative at such times, and ready to tell all that he had learned during the day. To my own surprise I blurted out, without thinking of my words, so engrossed was my mind on this subject, as if determined to hear the worst at once:
"How about Fort Pickens?"
"Oh," he growled out in his thick, guttural tones, "the Yankees have opened fire on our fellows from that damned Fort Pickens."
"Is that all," said I, with great a sigh of relief, which he must have noticed had he been sober enough.
"That's enough, ain't it? The President and the Secretary are both disgusted with General Bragg for not capturing the damn place last spring."
"Too bad!" my thoughts were, though I did not dare express them. I had prevented the capture of Fort Pickens in April.
As we rode along in silence for the remainder of the way out to camp, I had the opportunity to recall the Fort Pickens service, and I wondered and planned in my own mind just how that duel would be carried on there. I should have liked so much to have witnessed the booming of guns from Pickens, and the exploding of the great shells over the exact spots in which I had located the masked Rebel batteries down there.
My fears having been relieved by this explanation of the conversation I had overheard, I felt very much as if I'd like to go off by myself and yell for the old flag, just once, but I dare not; I must continue to suffer and enjoy, in the silence, that was becoming almost a second nature to me.
It will be remembered that I had been at Montgomery, Alabama, at about the time the provisional Government of Jeff Davis was being initiated at that place. I was at the same hotel for about a week at which Mr. Davis then occupied rooms. I had several times been close to his person—indeed, so near that I was able to overhear the conversation in which he always seemed to be engaged.
Through the fortunes of war, and an adventurous, reckless disposition, I was again, in the winter of the same year, at the Capitol of the Rebel Government in Richmond, Virginia, in a position to witness the formal inauguration of Mr. Jeff Davis as President of the "permanent" Government of the Confederate States of America, for the term of six years.
I saw Mr. Davis inaugurated, attended his public reception on the same evening, and, with all the rest of the callers, I was introduced to him, shook his hand, looked into his one eye, and passed out into the darkest night that I ever remember to have seen. The inauguration ceremonies were intended to be imposing.
We all know now that, even at the early stage of the war, there was much serious trouble among the Confederate leaders. During my experience among them there was scarcely a day that I did not hear expressions of discontent, and witness other evidences of a bitter feeling between the extreme Southern men and what they termed "Virginia Yankees."
My observations were, of course, principally among the rankand file, but I had also an eye and an ear for what was occurring among the higher classes. Though they were able to conceal their bickerings at the time, to a certain extent, we all know now, from the testimony of such men as Generals Joe Johnston, Beauregard and Longstreet, that there were always the smoldering embers of a volcano in the very heart of the Rebellion, and this cause alone would have prevented their success in the end, even if General Grant and the Army of the Potomac had been defeated in the field.
Though Mr. Davis had been elected President without any contest, the fact remains that there had been hostile opposition to him from various sources, probably the most noted being that of Howell Cobb. We, of the Maryland Battery, were given to understand by our Captain that we would be expected to do our share, individually and collectively, in making the inauguration a success.
The Secretary of War was a personal friend of our Captain, as will be remembered, and we all know now, if we did not suspect it then, that Mr. Benjamin was the Mephistopheles of Mr. Davis' Cabinet, such was the peculiar character of his services to his chief.
Of course, we were all glad enough of an opportunity to display ourselves in Richmond as Marylanders who were exiled from home; we had been accustomed to receive the "ovations" of our Richmond lady friends, and we were all glad enough of another opportunity to secure all the attention we could command from them.
There were some fears, too, that the inauguration might be of such a quiet character as to reflect somewhat, in this way, upon the administration of Mr. Davis. In brief, Mr. Benjamin and our side were to take an active part in making it a "popular" ovation. I was in for this, as I had been for anything at all that would add a little spice to the daily routine of camp life, that was becoming tiresome to me.
A couple of days previous to the inauguration day, we were all kept pretty busy drilling our awkward squad in marching and in burnishing up our uniforms. We had received no arms as yet. The one old condemned iron cannon we were using to practice on was all that we refugees could boast of in the way of arms, for the proposed invasion of Maryland.
The trio before mentioned had been dubbed the "Three roguish chaps together," comprised the Colonel (our Sergeant), Lanyard, the sailor, and myself had promised the Captain our hearty coöperation. We determined to assist him and his friends in every way we could in "creating a demonstration," leaving for ourselves the evening following the reception of the President.
The eventful morning came at last, ushered in by a slowly-drizzling, cold rain. Indeed it promised about as inauspicious for a street display as could have been imagined. Later in the day the rain increased, and about the hour set for the ceremonies it had settled down to a steady pour.
It was, indeed, a dreary day in Richmond overhead as well as under foot. We marched to the city through slop and mud, that added to our personal misery and discomfiture, as well as it detracted from our intended gay appearance.
The ceremony took place in the Capitol Grounds—a stand had been erected in the neighborhood of the Henry Clay statue. On account of the pouring rain, it was necessary at almost the last hour for a gang of workingmen to erect a temporary roof or shelter over the place from which Mr. Davis was to deliver his inaugural address.
I did not get to hear a word of it, but I was not caring a scrap about it just then. I saw Mr. Davis, though, through all the proceedings—we were stationed at some distance down the hill and looked up over a sea of umbrellas.
After the ceremony was over, we three were permitted by our Captain to remain in town, and the trio at once found shelter in the same comfortable restaurant in which I had first tasted the apple-jack. Here we were permitted to dry out our wet clothing and enjoy a good old-fashioned Virginia dinner, which mine host had prepared in honor of the day. The great china punch-bowl was still on the high bar, filled almost to the brim with the sweet-smelling, seductive apple-jack, in which floated some roast apples, which were garnished with cloves, so they looked like great pine balls, but I felt that they were as dangerous as porcupines.
I was urged to drink several times indeed, but one taste was enough for me. The landlord was rather hurt, or pretended to be, that I should refuse to accept from his own hands the courteouslyproffered mug of the delicious compound, to be drunk in honor of the day, etc.
The Colonel, who had been such a good friend since we had met while I was sick in the hotel, had formed apparently the utmost confidence in me. In fact, our relations became of the most intimate character, as far as was possible between any two persons who were so unlike in disposition and purposes. The Colonel was my senior by several years; perhaps, because of this, or maybe from the fact that he had nursed me out from my illness and led me into the company, I felt that he had an oversight or care over me, and acted toward me in the kindly way of an elder brother.
In the love affairs, in which we all became so absurdly mixed up with our Maryland slave, Capitola, the Colonel had taken it upon himself to act in my behalf and for my good. I had taken him into my confidence about Capitola, and told him all about my trouble in that direction; how our officers had taken undue advantage of their uniform to cut me out, etc. He agreed with me that it was an "outrage," and admitted, with a smile, that I now recall as significant, that it was due entirely to the uniforms.
I had accepted his offer to make things all right for me. I had consented most reluctantly to the Colonel's disinterested and brotherly advice—not to have anything more to do with Capitola.
On inauguration day, being in town and feeling in pretty good trim, I yielded to the impulse, and concluded to meet Capitola just once more, to say "Good-by," provided I could do so without letting the Colonel find it out.
While trying to fix up a scheme to get away from him and Lanyard that afternoon, so that I might make the proposed call undetained, I was delighted to hear the Colonel ask Lanyard and I, to excuse him for a couple of hours, as he had an important engagement with the Lieutenant that afternoon—business must be attended to.
I was not long in getting away from Lanyard, and quickly skipped around to the well known residence of our Capitola. She surprised me by meeting me cordially and, all in one breath, demanded to know why I had stayed away so long.
"Why," she said, in her smiling, innocent way, "all the rest of your boys have been to call on us."
"Indeed," thought I; and when I had sufficiently recovered to ask who had been there since I had been gone, she smilingly said:
"Why, your friend, the Colonel, calls frequently; also that Mississippi Lieutenant of yours. Isn't he just too nice?"
This was not exactly what I expected or desired to hear from Capitola, but it was enough. The Colonel, my brotherly friend, was deceiving me, too. One purpose of my visit had been to request her company to the reception at the President's that evening. I had formed the impression that it would be a great scheme for the Spy to escort the Maryland slave to Jeff Davis' reception. When I had intimated the object of my visit, she burst into a hearty laugh as she said, cheerily:
"Oh, that is too funny. I believe every soldier from Maryland in your company has made that request already, and I had to decline them all, because I had engaged to go with the Lieutenant, you know."
I was preparing to take my leave when the door bell rang. After a few more words and a sad "Good-by" to Capitola, I was about to leave the room when I ran against my disinterested, brotherly Colonel, who had been trying to replace himself in the affections of my girl—while advising me to stay away. He was not at all embarrassed, but at once broke out into a hearty laugh, and, pulling me over to a sofa, we had a talk about the affair, which amused Capitola so much that her merry laughter rang through the house as she gathered the situation from our "explanations."
The Colonel proposed going out with me, but I noticed that he had cunningly slipped Capitola to one side and whispered in her ear something which had the effect of causing her cheery laughter to break out in a fresh place. She rushed over to me and, placing both hands on my shoulder, said:
"There is another—he wants me to go withhimto the reception."
So I had my turn to laugh on the Colonel. We were about to leave. Capitola, smiling, suggested that we march the whole company down to her house and she should go along with all of us—as theFille de Regiment.
Despite the weather and some gloomy forebodings of friends, the reception of President Jeff Davis was a success—in the way of a crowd,at least. It seemed to me at the time that everybody was there. There were all kinds of people present during the evening—the very best class of the citizens of Richmond and, perhaps, some of the very worst element, along with the numerous army officers and soldiers.
Richmond, in the winter of 1861, may justly be termed, at that time, the wickedest city in America. Adventurous gamblers and bad citizens of every conceivable description had flocked to the Rebel Capital from New Orleans and all parts of the South and North. One portion of Main street was abandoned almost wholly to gambling houses, which, at night, were inhabited by the worst kind of characters, in Rebel uniforms. These people and their associates, who were in the city for sport and to ply their vocations, flocked in great numbers to all places where crowds were gathered, such as theatres, receptions, etc.
The Mayor of the city, a Mr. Mayo—whose name I remember so well because it lacked but the final letter "r" to spell the name and position in the same word—was a dignified, gray-haired, old Virginia gentleman, who did the best he could to preserve the peace and order of the city. I saw him frequently on the street and at the City Hall, on Broad street. I never had any dealings with him in his official capacity that prevents my bearing this testimony to his good intentions. He was on hand at the reception, as the city official, as was also Governor Letcher, who was another Virginia gentleman and official who I can remember with feeling of respect. General Winder, who had been a police inspector, or something of the kind, in Baltimore, was, in reality, the Governor, the Mayor, and the Provost-Marshal combined in one, as well as Military Governor, with absolute authority from the Confederate Government. He had, as a Baltimorean, imported into Richmond a number of the Baltimore ex-police, or plug-uglies, whom he had employed as special detectives in his service.
We went to the President's house together, early; and we stayed around the neighborhood as long as we could stand the storm, in hope of getting a sight of Claiborne and Capitola.
The Colonel and I took our places in the line, to be presented in our turn. I had some slight misgivings on the outcome of this adventure, because I knew that Mr. Davis had frequently seen me while in Montgomery with him, and I feared that the subsequentnotoriety I had obtained from the Fort Pickens episode would have served to have placed me in his mind. It will be remembered, too, that the press all over the South, as well as the North, had fully described my visit from Montgomery to Pensacola. So, it was with something of a nervous quivering at the heart that I saw myself being slowly advanced to the President. I watched his face closely from my place in the line before I reached him, and saw him courteously and smilingly take each one by the hand as he was presented.
As I have said before, Mr. Davis' face was thin—his cheeks somewhat sunken. His pictures do not properly represent his face, as it was only when he smiled and spoke in his low, soft, gentle manner, that he was so fascinating to those who knew him best.
He was, of course, severe and unbending to his enemies, but he was always the same to friends.
The Colonel was ahead of me, and, as his name was mentioned, he said to Mr. Davis, as he turned to me:
"A couple of Maryland boys have come to pay their respects to you, Mr. President."
Mr. Davis held his hand for a moment, saying, pleasantly, to the Colonel:
"Why, I'm right glad to see you."
At the same time he reached his other hand to me, and, for a moment, he grasped us each with a hand saying, as he looked at me with that one mighty bright eye:
"I'm glad to see you both."
We passed on, my heart fluttering terribly; but, once, in the crowd again, I felt that I had passed another danger. We lingered in the crowd for a short time; saw all who came and left in that time, and not being able longer to stand the storm, while waiting for a glimpse of Capitola, I turned away from the crowd into the darkness of a stormy night and wandered out to camp, so much absorbed in my own thoughts that I lost all care for my appearance—trudging blindly along through the darkness into the mud and slush until I reached camp, tired, where I quickly tumbled into the bunk and was quickly lost to all consciousness of the day's doing.
From the subsequent questionings of our people North about how things looked in Richmond during the war, I gathered that they all entertained erroneous impressions about the conditions of affairs in that city at that time. I have been trying to describe them from a Unionist's standpoint. Though it had been in a state of siege at the time of which I write, and was apparently cut off from the balance of the world for a year, yet there was absolutely nothing in the general appearance of things in the streets to indicate that the city suffered in the least from the blockade.
It may be said that Richmond was very much like Washington at the same period, the principal difference being that the soldiers who thronged the streets and filled the saloons and houses of one city were in a gray uniform, while those in the other wore a blue. There was probably more of the blue boys loose in Washington than of the gray in Richmond, because the Confederate officials and, particularly, Provost-Marshal-General Winder, of Maryland, was able, with the despotic power granted him by the War Office, to prevent a great deal of straggling.
The weather was now settled into the regular Virginia winter, alternating into rain, snow, slush and sleet. Under these conditions it was impossible for either army to move, and, as a consequence, the city was soon filled full of officers from Manassas, who were on leave from their command, or of soldiers on furlough, or straggling deserters. No one will attempt to claim that the city at this time was orderly; in fact, the oldest citizens are ready to assert, even now, that, during the early winter months, the respectable portion of the community were in truth besieged in their own houses. It was scarcely safe for a lady to venture alone in certain portions of the town during the daytime, while at night the straggling furloughedofficers and soldiers, under such conditions, on the same equality, had entire possession in the streets and certain parts of the city.
There was apparently no scarcity of money—such as it was—and there was not, that I can recall, any limit of the supply of whisky and all the other little attachments that the soldiers either in gray or in blue will have.
Main street, 1886, looked to me very much as it did in 1861 and 1862, except, perhaps, that on the occasion of my last visit the city presented to my eye somewhat the appearance of Sunday, in its general orderly and quiet bearing, as compared with the noisy, boisterous crowds that we saw on the streets daily in 1861 and 1862.
Camp Lee was on that side of the city furthest from the Libby Prison andRockett'sWharf, and those places in the neighborhood of which I had spent most of my time in the first days of my visit, after recovering from my illness.
I had neglected to visit my early friends, the guard at Libby during these later days, because of the long distance of our camps from them, and not that I had forgotten or lost interest in our prisoners at Libby.
One Sunday morning, the weather being rather more agreeable than any we had enjoyed for some days previously, I obtained permission and a pass from our Captain to go to the city early in the day to attend church. The Captain pleasantly granted the request. Some of the officers, who were near by when I asked the privilege of attending church, facetiously recommended the Captain not to refuse anything that would tend to improve the morals of his corporal or clerk. I went off alone on foot, intending to make a visit to the prisoners before I should return.
Perhaps I may have been feeling a little bit homesick and disgusted with Richmond on this Sunday morning, because on the evening previous our beautiful Capitola had—to put it vulgarly—gone back on me for our Lieutenant.
I walked into the city via Franklin street, which is the aristocratic residence street of Richmond. There are on this thoroughfare some old Virginia homes and families that the city and State may well be proud of. General Lee's family lived on this street in a large, plain, double brick house, on the south side, one or two blocks from the Capitol Grounds. The house is quite ordinary-looking as compared with that of some of the large private residences in the neighborhood, but it will always remain to Southern people one of the historic houses of their city, because it was here on the street, on a Sunday morning after the surrender, that General Lee, accompanied by a few members of his staff, rode up to his door, dismounted from his war horse—Traveler—and, with a silent wave of the hand, parted with his personal staff, entered his house and closed the doors forever on his hopes of a Confederacy.
It is not written what occurred behind the closed doors, but there is gossip, which has, perhaps, been confirmed, that the staid, reserved, dignified old General, once inside his own hall at his home, completely broke down and fell to the floor, from which he was carried to his bed by the servants and that part of his family who were present.
The home of General Lee is more sought out by tourists in Richmond nowadays than is that of President Jeff Davis.
A block below, or nearest the Capitol, and directly opposite the grounds, stands St. Paul's Episcopal Church, in which both President Davis and General Lee worshiped. On the Sunday morning of which I am writing, in 1861, I took a position at the Fountain Hotel, directly opposite the church, to await the arrival of President Davis. There had been a good bit of talk about Mr. Davis' intentions of joining this church. Though he was a regular attendant during his early days in Richmond, it was not until some months after—and, I think, during the day of which I write—that he was formally baptized and confirmed into that church.
I did not have to wait long for the appearance of Mr. Davis. He came on to the steps so suddenly that I nearly missed seeing him. He was alone, and dressed in his usual plain way—had walked up from the direction of his office, when I had looked for him coming down through the grounds from his house. He spoke pleasantly to the few people whom he passed on his way, and disappeared inside the church.
Mr. Davis, whatever may be said of his public character, and a great deal has been written against him by his own Southern people, always impressed me at sight as being an agreeable, honest gentleman. I was frequently close to him, and always felt his presence, impressed with the feeling that he was having a great deal ofserious trouble. I have often wondered if Mr. Davis ever entertained, for a moment even, the thought or fear that his life was in danger. I hope he may live long, and perhaps read the poor story of the Yankee Spy, who dogged his very footsteps in Richmond from after the battle of Bull Run until the winter following, and prevented any attempt at invasion of the North.
After the President had entered the Church, I lounged outside while the great organ gave the beautiful Sunday morning an impressive salute. When the tones had died away, feeling more homesick and blue than ever, I started off on my walk down Main street toward the Libby and the Warehouse prisons. As Libby is in the lower end of the city pretty close to Rockett's Wharf, it was a long walk, though it was Sunday, and the shops along the way were open and dispensing refreshments to the crowds.
My early Rebel friend was not on guard that morning, but some of his friends said he would be around after dinner, so, under pretense of waiting for him, I sat around in such shape that I could get a good view of the "animals" as they called the prisoners.
The tobacco warehouses in which the prisoners were confined have been so often described that any attempt of mine would be superfluous. It will be remembered, however, that, even before the war, all these large barn-like buildings were constructed pretty much after the form of our modern bonded warehouses. All the windows were made with iron bars, presenting the appearance of cages.
Groups of our poor fellows were easily to be seen through the bars, some of them having become pretty ragged; others were standing by the windows peering through the bars; a few walked or promenaded in pairs up and down the large barn-like floors. There were always two sentries and an officer at the main door, while on the pavement in front other sentries paced their silent beats, so that it was impossible for me to have any communication with them.
I desired for a particular reason to ascertain the names of some of the prisoners, and, if possible, to get the address of their friends in the North, that I might test my mail communication, by sending some word direct to them. Perhaps, for my own good, I was not successful.
I may be permitted to say here that, in case we had another war, the benefit of the Signal Service Code will be made apparent in this, that a silent communication may be carried on between friends of the same side under just precisely such conditions as I have described here.
If there had been a prisoner inside the bars who had been familiar with the Telegraph Code, as adapted to the motions of the hand, I could have spelled out over the head of the guard, without his knowledge, quite as rapidly as I can write it, messages that would have been a relief and pleasure to the prisoners inside, if not otherwise beneficial.
It was while standing in front of the Warehouse Prison, on Main street, thinking and planning over the possibilities in this direction, looking intently, from where I stood on the inside of the pavement, through the windows at the prisoners, that I felt a slap on my back that caused me to jump like an india-rubber ball. The voice, which was not a familiar one, said, loudly enough for even the prisoners to hear, using my own, my right name:
"Hello, Blank!"
When I turned to see who had "struck" me, I am sure that I presented a very flushed and, perhaps, angry face. I did not at once recognize the person, probably because he was in a gray uniform, but the smiling face of his companion, in the full black beard, I at once recognized as Doctor ——, of San Marcos, Texas, whom I had known familiarly as the young son of my uncle's neighbor.
I saw that I was caught at last, as I fully believed, and determined to make the most of my short time.
The tall young fellow, who had first approached me, I was able to recall, as the doctor mentioned his name and a visit we had made together to his house.
I was assured somewhat, and recovered from my surprise by the doctor extending his hand, and in the most agreeable and hearty manner, said:
"Well, Blank, I'm damn glad to see you are on the right side."
I hardly knew what to say to them, the surprise was so great, but this remark served to bring me to my senses, and I replied in a somewhat embarrassed manner, by asking what they were doing in Richmond?
"Oh! we are all here. Our regiment is encamped just out here. We have been in town to church, but are going out to camp now." Then taking my arm, familiarly, said: "Come along, the boys will all be glad to see you?"
Their invitation was so cordial, and I was being urged with such earnestness to join them, that I could see at once that they did not suspect my true character. It was evident that neither of them had heard of my Fort Pickens affair.
The one difficulty I saw before me in renewing this Texas acquaintance was, that I should have to represent in Richmond two different characters, under the two different names. I might be able to keep up this dual character if the two crowds were distinct or separated, but there was, of course, a great risk in this.
I did not, under any circumstances, want to become known by the name in Richmond by which I had been so widely published as the Pensacola Spy. All the Rebel detective force, which was made up principally of Baltimore police and detectives imported by General Winder, had undoubtedly been furnished with instructions to look after spies, and perhaps I had been specially honored by their notice as being the first on record during the war.
But I could not well resist the demand to accompany these two Texas boys out to their camp; and when they suggested that Imustsee my old friends from Texas, and seemed to take it as an affront that I should hesitate, there seemed to be no way out of it—especially as they had proposed furnishing me a horse to return to my own camp in the evening.
I reluctantly started to walk out to their camp, talking familiarly and cordially on the way, as they did about their delight at finding me on the "right" side. I could not entertain the thought that these honest-hearted Texan youths, who had never before been so far from home, were capable of any trick—they were sincerely glad to see me. I felt instinctively that they were old friends and neighbors of my Texas uncle, who did not suspect me of being a Yankee Spy.
The road to the camp of the Texans led in the direction of Seven Pines (or Fair Oaks), where Johnston attackedMcClellan'sleft in the following May, and the camp itself was not far from that point.
As we tramped along a pleasant chat was kept up, and though I was on the alert to hear if any suspicion attached to me for the Fort Pickens matter, nothing was said to indicate that either one had ever heard of the affair. They were, undoubtedly, sincere in their cordiality, and only desired to gratify their companions in camp with their success in having found one whom they all knew, so far away from their Texas homes.
In the talk, I gathered that one company in their regiment came from the neighborhood in which my uncle lived, and was composed principally of the very set of young fellows with whom I had been associated there only the previous winter. They gave me the names of a good many of the boys, and amused me with the accounts of the journey they had made from Texas to Virginia in search of the war. The fact of my having an uncle in the South would of itself have been sufficient indorsement for my "loyalty" with most of these fellows, but I recalled to myself that, while amongst them in Texas, I had got into trouble several times by my outspoken Northern sentiments during the Presidential campaign, which was then going on. The doctor probably referred to this when he congratulated me so heartily on having found me on the right side.
We finally reached the camp. I was marched up to the company quarters, and was generally recognized by the boys, who were as sincerely glad to see me as if I was just from their home. I was at home among them—everything was all right there, and I enjoyed renewing the friendship of a year previous. Among the boys was one fellow, to whom I referred in the introduction of this story, as having a difficulty with—the grandson of David Crockett, the hero of the Alamo. Young Crockett, like most of his class, had been taught to presume a little on the glory of his ancestors. This had made him somewhat personally disagreeable to his associates; but he kept away from me that day.
I remained in camp until after dress parade. It was a regiment of as fine a looking set of truly American men and boys as I have ever seen in either army. Their war record, as the Texas Rangers, will bear me out in this opinion. Their Colonel was afterward the famous General John B. Hood.
I was urged to stay for camp dinner. The boys, with whom Ihad so often before been in camps in Texas, while "rounding up" their stock, were all well up to the use of the camp-kettles and pots, and, with the advantages of the city close by them, they were able to get up in good style, first-class shape, one of the good old-style Western Texas dinners. We were having a good time all around. I was being urged to get a release from my Maryland Battery and join the Texas Brigade.
I saw that I could not very well keep up this dual character, the very cordiality of these fellows would lead to their visiting me up in the Maryland Battery, and, once there, things would become badly mixed up. I would never be able to explain to these Maryland fellows that I was in reality another fellow altogether, and it would cause some confusion in the Texas camp to have to explain the other way to my Texas friends.
These thoughts, however, detracted but little from the pleasure of my visit, for, as I felt that somehow or other I would get out of the difficulty, I did not concern myself for a moment.
It was a mistake to have accompanied the Texans to their camp. It was, to say the least, when there, very indiscreet to place myself on exhibition among the hundreds of other spectators who were grouped in front of the Texas regiment while they were having their Sunday dress parade.
In the society of the earnest and cordial Texas acquaintances whom I had found—or who had found me—I had wholly overlooked the little circumstance that had occurred during the night at the theater, when, it will be remembered, I had been pleasantly approached after the dismissal by a couple of Confederates who said they had met me in Texas the preceding winter. I was then that evening in the company of the Colonel, who knew me only as a Marylander, and by an entirely different name than that by which the Texans addressed me, and it will be remembered that I then declined to be recognized as ——, and had, perhaps, rather curtly repelled their courteous advances.
As I sat at camp dinner on an improvised bench in front of the tent with my friends, with consternation I saw approaching me the very chap whom I had snubbed in the vestibule of the theater. The appearance of this tall fellow at the time, in his gray clothes, had about such an effect on me at the dinner table in that companyin broad daylight as a ghost might produce when alone somewhere near midnight. He had his staring eyes fixed right on me. There was no mistaking it.
My dangerous predicament rushed to my mind at once. Luckily for me, perhaps, we were all seated at the table, so the fellow had politeness enough not to intrude himself upon the crowd, but walked on past us keeping his eye searchingly, and I felt sternly, fixed on me. I lost my appetite, which a moment previously was ravenous, and, as soon as I could decently do so, meekly suggested that, as I had a long way to go, I'd better leave them at once.