I WHISPERED TO HIM AS I WENT PAST: "NORFOLK IS TAKEN."I WHISPERED TO HIM AS I WENT PAST. "NORFOLK IS TAKEN."
I had formed a rather foolish notion that it would be a great satisfaction to our prisoners if I could open communication with them, or, at least, that it would gratify them to let them know they had a friend who was at liberty in this city and anxious to serve them.
I gave this up after one trial. One day while loitering in that neighborhood, as usual, I passed on the pavement the customary Rebel guard accompanying a couple of fellows who carried a bucket of water in each hand.
It was about the time that Norfolk was taken by the Union troops, and, as it had been the only piece of good news that I had heard for so long, I was feeling quite elated over even that much, so, when I saw this procession of water-carriers coming up the street, I impulsively concluded at once to convey that information to our poor fellows inside the warehouse.
They had stopped and set down their buckets to rest. Picking out a big, good-natured looking fellow in the blue clothes, who was one of the water-carriers, to experiment on, I walked up to him; without stopping at all or even looking at him, I whispered to him as I went past: "Norfolk is taken."
Never turning my head, I was walking on hurriedly when the blamed fool sang out after me so everybody could hear:
"What?"
He didn't hear anything further from me. I had nothing more to say. Luckily the guard was as stupid as the prisoner, and no notice was taken of it.
Close by Libby Prison is Rockett's, or the landing point in the river below the falls for all the shipping that comes up the James river from the ocean. At these wharves ocean vessels drawing eighteen and twenty feet landed their cargoes in the piping time of peace. It is one of the busiest points about the city, but during the blockade, while the Union troops occupied Fortress Monroe, and subsequently Norfolk and the lower part of the James river, it was quite dull. There were, I believe, some gun-boats being fitted out here, and a few smaller-sized vessels were running irregularly up and down the James as far as they could go, without encountering their own torpedoes, Union batteries, and war-ships. My interest in this place was accidentally aroused (as was Newton's discovery of gravitation by the fall of an apple from a tree) by the reflection, while listlessly throwing sticks of wood out into the stream, that they would naturally float into the Union lines in a few hours—the river that goes on forever certainly reached the Union gunboats, and I reasoned that if the water went to the Union gun-boats, that, of course, I could do the same by simply going with the stream.
This was good logic if it was not good sense. I felt that the details for such a voyage would be easily enough arranged. I gave the matter my careful study, looking up all the maps that I could find bearing upon this river, and cautiously questioning every old colored cook, or seaman, that I could safely run against who had sailed up and down the river and could give me any information. In this way I was able to learn by detail pretty closely the location of the Rebel batteries along the river, and also to ascertain as nearly as was possible just where I would find a Union gun-boat or battery.
My experience on ships of war at Pensacola had not been exactly pleasant, but I knew very well that, once at Fortress Monroe, I could be quickly identified from Washington, and all would be safe enough.
I determined that, when I should return, it would be via the James river and the bay. I preferred the risk of drowning or being blown up by torpedoes in the river to another chase over the hills through the Rebel lines of Manassas, and, as I was in no condition for that long walk that night, I thought it would be more comfortable to have the water to float me out of rebellion into the Union and under the old flag.
Governor Letcher, of Virginia, frequently entertained great crowds of citizens at the elegant mansion provided by the State for her Governor. It seemed to me that the people of Richmond gave more attention to their Governor than to President Davis.
I could hear occasionally of some friction between the Confederate Government and the State Government. Of course, they did not allow this to become generally known, but there was certainly agood deal of this feeling at Richmond, even as early as 1861, which increased in bitterness as the years rolled on.
The State of Virginia had, before the war, a regularly organized standing army of its own. Of course, there were but a few of these "regular" troops, who were not at all like the militia of other States, but a permanent establishment, with a separate uniform of their own, and under the pay and control of the Governor of the State of Virginia. These few Virginia troops were distinct from the Confederates. Their principal duty seemed to be to act as a sort of "Pope's Guard" to Governor Letcher.
There were always several of them on duty about the Capitol grounds in the capacity of guards or police; and, as a consequence, there were numerous conflicts between the Confederate officers and soldiers, who were quite numerous in the city at that time, with this Governor's Guard. I saw one altercation which resulted in a shooting and running match—the Confederate winning over what he termed the "liveried hireling" Virginia Yankee.
I had been giving the telegraph office a pretty wide berth during the early part of my stay in Richmond, fearing that I should meet some one who had known me at Manassas. I began, however, to stop at the large glass windows of their Main street office, to stare in, like the rest of the curious loungers who were attracted by the mysterious tickings of the instruments, which were in sight from the street, the causes of mysterious movements and sounds of which were at distant points.
In those days operators who could read by sound were not so numerous as they are now, and it was never thought necessary to attempt to prevent any person from hearing the sounds of the instruments. I was always very careful to first scrutinize the faces of all the operators before any of them should have an opportunity to first see me. As I have previously stated, an expert operator can read by the sight of the moving armature, or lever, which makes the sound. This was the way in which I had to attempt to read those instruments from the pavement on the main street of Richmond.
To make this plainer to those who are not familiar with the mysteries of the telegraph, I will explain that the right and left motions, or swingings, of the signal flags, which were used in thearmy, represent exactly the same principle of reading characters by movement. This can be done through even so small a space as that usually taken by a ticking lever of a telegraph instrument, and its operation may be as light and quick in its action as the hand of a watch.
My telegraph operations were interrupted for a while by a personal incident, that occurred while I was still supposed to be on "sick leave." One night I was in the barber shop of our hotel, getting myself primped for an evening out with my Maryland boys. While lying back in the barber's chair, all covered up with lather and towels, I was startled to see through the glass, in my front, an apparition that had as great an effect on my nerves for the time as the traditional story of the devil looking over the shoulder of those who worship the looking-glass too much.
I beheld, like a ghost, walking right up to my barber the superintendent of the railway station at Manassas—the identical gentleman to whom I had been sent by General Beauregard, and who would, of course, at once recognize me.
My barber held his razor in his hand while he stopped to tell this gentleman that "his turn would be after me."
It will not be possible for me to describe the sensations that I experienced the day when startled by the apparition, which appeared as though looking through a glass window in front of my chair. Standing apparently in front of me was the one person, of all others, that I most particularly desired to avoid meeting in such a place as the Capital of Rebeldom at this time. Of course he must have learned, from the officers at headquarters, of my attempted escape to Washington, via Fairfax and Munson's Hill, and the subsequent chase through the woods the following night, in common with all the rest of the officials with whom I had been in contact about the telegraph offices at Manassas. He would, upon learning of this attempt to get away, recall all that I had been doing about the telegraph office during those few days; and, if careful examination were made into my past history, I knew that they must discover my true character.
While talking to my barber about his turn, this gentleman stood right behind my chair, so close to me that his arm almost touchedmy bare head, that was lying back on the cushions. He looked in the glass while talking, stroking his face which certainly needed the attention of a barber, as he had just come from the front. My face was entirely covered with the soapy lather.
The barber stood with his razor suspended over my head as he talked to the "customer." I am sure my face must have first turned as white as the lather. When I spied this gentleman, if I had not been already lying down, I am afraid that I should have suddenly collapsed, or have attempted to run off. As it was, being so muffled up in towels, and so completely disguised or masked by lather, and fastened, as it were in the stocks, by mere fright, I was prevented from making an exhibition of myself, and lay there for the time being as distressed as a wounded soldier on an amputating bench under the hands of surgeons, and as helpless as if under the influence of ether.
He was so much interested at the appearance of his own face, as he saw it in the glass over my head, that he did not closely scrutinize me; in fact, he could have only recognized me at that time, perhaps, by my eyes and upper portion of the face. And while he stood there I half closed my eyes, and purposely corrugated my brow. It was, of course, something of a relief to my suppressed emotions when, after an admiring stare at himself, he was sufficiently satisfied to go off and sit down among the other persons who were waiting their turn. I breathed a little freer, and gave such a great sigh of relief that the barber who was shaving me looked down at me with something of an expression of wonder in his black face. I quietly recovered myself, however, and began instinctively to plan to get out of that shop as quietly and as quickly as possible.
It would not do to get out of the chair, which had concealed me so well, until this dangerous apparition itself should be shrouded in a napkin and laid out on the chair, so that he could not have a free view when I should be ready to get out. He must not follow me in the chair I was occupying, as that would probably put us face to face, as when I should rise to give place to him. To prevent this, in an undertone I told the barber that I had been suffering with a toothache, and if he would give me a careful and slow shave and wash, that I would allow him double pay for the greater time he would have to put on me. This was a successful and cheap way ofgetting out of so great a pickle. I had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Superintendent invited into a chair a little way over from where I was located, and he had no sooner got safely tucked in than, I fear, I rather abruptly told my man: "That will do; I will go now." The suddenness and celerity with which I crawled out of the chair and hauled on my coat and sneaked out of the door must have surprised that barber, and, if he had seen me get along the street and around the corner into the hotel office, he would have been puzzled still more. A glance at the hotel register showed not only the name of the superintendent at Manassas, but also that of another well-known railroad man, who had been about the station at Manassas nearly all the time I was up there. Without asking any questions, I stalked straight to my room, with a determination to gather up any valuables that had accumulated during this sick time, and to at once put as much distance as possible between myself and the ghosts that I had just encountered. I did not have the remotest idea, at that time, as towhereI should go. My only desire was to get away from Richmond and out of Virginia as quickly as I possibly could.
I was homesick. There is nothing that will make a man or a boy so awfully homesick, when away from home and realizing that you cannot get there, as to meet with some such "unpleasantness" as this. It is a much more satisfactory thing, as I know from subsequent experience, to meet your enemy on a skirmish line, knowing the gun in his hand is cocked and loaded, than it is to run across him while unarmed on his own dunghill. I did not like the idea of being "caught" as a spy. I always had more dread of the attendant humiliation connected with the probable surroundings of a prisoner, who was a recognized Spy, than of the final danger.
When I reached my room, I found my two clever Maryland refugees there. Probably my manner and appearance still showed some signs of my agitation, as they both immediately became interested in me. The Colonel, who was the jolly fellow of this trio, said, laughingly:
"Hello, boy, what have you been up to?"
Fortunately for me, they both attributed my apparent embarrassment to a trifling matter, and did not pursue it further. Elkton, the older and more staid member of the refugee band, told me, with great glee and pleasure, that he had received an assurance from theRebel War Department that his quota, or the detachment of refugees that he had been gathering up, would be specially provided for as a part of a Maryland company of light artillery which was then organizing. He would be the First Lieutenant of this company, and, as such, would, of course, see thathisboys were well taken care of. It was further explained that his quota would be permitted to form a detachment of itself, or, at least, it would be so arranged that one section of this proposed battery would be in charge of his own men. This plan was not exactly what Elkton and the Colonel had calculated upon when they left their comfortable Maryland homes to join the forces of the Rebels. Elkton probably expected to be at least a Colonel, and the Colonel himself evidently considered himself entitled to at least a Lieutenant-Colonelcy in the Confederate armies. They might have attained to this position if they could have furnished sufficient recruits themselves to have filled out a regiment. As it was, they were sadly and sorely disappointed in not finding the rush of refugees from Maryland which they had expected, and they were obliged to be satisfied with the best they could get, which was a lieutenancy for Elkton, and a sergeantcy for the Colonel. In all these talks and plans, it had been calculated by both of these gentlemen that I should, as a matter of course, join the army—as one of their detachment.
I never intended to do this. Under the peculiar circumstances under which I was placed, resulting in my sickness in the enemy's camp, and in order to further my own purposes and objects, which were solely to better collect information for the use of the Government, I had allowed them to think that I would at the proper time go with them.
Everything is fair in love and war.
This sort of artifice or scheme for deceiving a traitorous enemy in time of war, adopted on a large scale by the best generals, is termed by them "strategy"—but however disinterested the motives or inspiration of patriotism of a spy, who encounters for his country even an infamous death, his work has been recognized as something necessary, but "treacherous." While I am not attempting the writing of an essay, yet I may be permitted to insert here that "The work or the purpose of a spy is not more 'treacherous'than that of a general's 'strategy.' Both necessarily imply deceit. There is only a difference in rank or degree."
Very often the spy's "treachery" enables the general to apply his "strategy," and, perhaps, the poor spy has made the success of some of the greatest generals possible.
My desire was to stave off as long as possible this plan. I hoped,beforethe necessity for it should occur, to get away from them and return home.
So it came about that the time was approaching when I must either enlist or leave, and as I had that day so narrowly escaped an encounter, or detection in the barber shop, I decided very quickly in my own mind that I should leave.
As previously indicated, I had studied as far as possible from all the maps that I could get access to, and learned pretty well the topography of the James River country. My Maryland friends who had come over had fully explained their trip by the Potomac River crossing, and I gathered at once that their route was very like what fisherman call a set-net—it was a very easy matter to get into the net, but it was difficult to find the way out again. In fact, it was only the favored few who were in the service of the Confederate Government that were permitted to escape backward. I knew very well that I could offer no satisfactory reasons for going in that direction, and that, if discovered in attempting to do so, it could not help but lead disastrously to me.
I kept pretty close to my room, being taken conveniently "sick" for a day or two.
The leaves on the large trees in the park were beginning to take on their beautiful autumnal colors. The air itself seemed to be clearer and more bracing, and I again began to feel well enough—was ready to undertake almost anything in the way of adventure.
One evening, when the Colonel and I were alone, he told me that Elkton, who had been almost a daily visitor at the War Office—looking after his commission—had learned on direct authority that:
"The army under Generals Johnston and Beauregard will very soon advance, and we must get in at once, because," he added in great glee and with significant emphasis, as he tapped me familiarly on the shoulder as he uttered each word: "The plan is to march into Maryland, and capture Washington andrelieveBaltimore."
This was the most interesting bit of news that I had heard for some weeks, and its dramatic recital set my nerves all up to a high tension. Eager to learn more, I questioned the voluble and confiding Colonel, who was eager enough to talk.
"Oh, I know it's true; and, my boy, I tell you truly that, before very long, we will march right into that portion of Maryland from which you came."
I was further encouraged to enlist with them, when the Colonel said: "Why, my dear boy, we will all soon march home to 'Maryland, my Maryland,' and be received by our friends in our gray uniforms."
This last part of the programme rather stumped me. I was not particularly desirous that any of my friends should "receivemein gray uniform."
I shared his enthusiasm in one respect, however—that it would be glorious to be doing something once more—and I even hoped they would move into Maryland, as that would serve to stir up McClellan and the North. I saw in this proposed advance into Maryland a good chance to again safely go through Beauregard's army, which I was willing to risk in this shape if, by so doing, I could learn of any proposed movement of the Rebels on to Washington, knowing very well that once in that country, in a Rebel uniform, I could safely "advance" into Maryland some hours, and perhaps days, before the Rebel Army, so that our friends could be prepared to suitably give their distinguished military visitors a warm reception, and entertain them in the proper form after they should arrive.
The Colonel went out to the bar to take a drink.
I sat down and built up another cipher letter, in the same key as I used in the former. It was about the same form as the preceding, being carefully worded, so as not to excite any suspicion. The real information which it conveyed to my Northern correspondent was to this effect, briefly, as each fifth word read:
"Proposed advance north via upper Potomac."
It was short and to the point, because I had not time—at least I thought I should not have—to "cipher out" a longer dispatch, as I wanted to get this through quickly. With this in my hands, I joined the Colonel down stairs, and together we walked along to Colonel J. B. Jones' office, and on the other side of the square.
The evening previous, while venturing out, I had first been careful to ascertain, by a cautious inspection of the people about the hotel, before I should approach any of the groups of men always loafing about the hotel, that my superintendent from Manassas was not among them.
I cautiously inspected the register, and, at a favorable opportunity, remarked to the gentlemanly clerk, as if I were surprised and delighted at the discovery:
"Why! is Mr. Superintendent here?"
The Richmond hotel clerks are like the same fellows every place else, and he did not deign a response to my inquiry as he was talking to another party. I looked, perhaps, rather inquisitively at him, finally attracting his attention, as he turned to a colored boy and said, apologetically:
"Show this gentleman up to 62."
"Oh, no! never mind; I'll not disturb him to-night; I'll see him again."
I didn't ask any further questions.
The next morning I was greatly relieved to learn from a colored porter that the Superintendent "Had gone off on de early cahs."
It was late in the evening when the Colonel and I called on Colonel Jones with my letter. I remember this, from the fact that the genial Colonel was preparing to close his office for the night, but he kindly took charge of my open letter, and, without a word of question, placed it in a pigeon-hole, in which were quite a number of other sealed letters. I asked, with an assumed expression of deep interest and anxiety in my manner, if the Colonel had any letters for me.
"Nothing at all undelivered," he said, as he politely expressed his regret at having to disappoint me. I felt so sorry, too, and with a sigh of relief and an uttered hope for better luck next time, bade the Colonel a good-night.
This information of the threatened invasion of Maryland, and the capture of Washington and Baltimore, had apparently put new and fresh blood into my veins. I felt that Imustfind out all about it, because I was in Richmond for that purpose, and if I failed or permitted so important an event to be planned and put into operation right under my own eyes, it would prove pretty conclusively that as a Spy, or scout, I was not reliable, and, after enduring so much hardship, I could not afford to fail in this important matter.
So I told the Colonel that I was most anxious to go with him and Elkton to Maryland as a Rebel soldier.
While they were arranging the details with the War Office, and some of the other Maryland refugees with whom we were to be consolidated, I put in my time scouring every avenue of information that I could think of, for some confirmation of the reported plan to advance. I was more deeply interested in this than I can explain; because, aside from my personal feelings and sympathies, I had, as will be remembered, a month or two previously advised our Government that an advance was impossible, on account of so much sickness and general laxity of discipline, etc.
But that information was based upon a condition of things which existed shortly after the battle of Bull Run.
It was now about the first part of October, I think, and during the time that had elapsed the condition of affairs at Manassas had changed very much, of course. The Rebel Army had been sick—like myself—but had now sufficiently recovered to carry the campaign further, and be in good shape for an offensive movement.
The Confederate authorities at Richmond were fully posted on all that was being done at Washington.
I am not sure but that there was a daily mail from the North. I wanted very much indeed to learn something about the manner of this system of communication, but I was always afraid to meddle too much about it while I was in Richmond, lest I should get picked up by some of the knowing ones among the Rebel spies and sympathizers, who were even in the employ of our own Government.
It was intimated in my hearing, while in Richmond, that the wife of President Lincoln was at heart in sympathy with the South; and that her brother, a Mr. Todd, who was in the Confederate service, was in communication with her. No person of good judgment ever believed in this story. I only mention it because some of the Rebel officers talked of the matter in a self-satisfied way.
One of my regular morning walks in Richmond was to go to the newspaper office, in Main street, to read their daily, which was posted on a file outside of their office. There was usually quite a crowdabout the office early in the day, because paper was becoming quite scarce in Rebeldom and a daily paper was too expensive a luxury for every one to enjoy, especially in my circumstances. I found, too, while standing about in the crowds, that I could overhear a great deal of comment on the news—that was more satisfactory to me as a spy than the news the paper contained.
The Richmond press regularly quoted the principal New York papers of only a day or so preceding. Of course, all the unfavorable criticism of the Union military officers, and especially the opposition to the administration of Lincoln on the part of Northern Copperheads.
If some of these old Coppers could have been in Richmond while under the Confederate free government, and have experienced something of the "gratitude" extended to them in their words of comment, it would have been a benefit to the country, in this way—that it would have dried up a great deal of Northern sympathy.
It seemed to me to be the general sentiment among Southern people of the more intelligent class, in response to this exhibition of Copperhead sympathy, was oftenest expressed in words similar to this:
"Why don't they come over and help us now?" "What are they talking about so much; why don't they come on?"
If I heard that sentiment expressed once, I've heard it perhaps hundreds of times, in different forms; but it seemed to me, even then, that there existed a general contempt on the part of the better people South for those in the North who sent their sympathy and encouragement through the newspaper exchanges.
On Main street, nearly opposite the newspaper office, was the general telegraph office, through which all communications by telegraph was had to all parts of the Southern Confederacy.
Inside, the office was arranged pretty much in the same general way as a bank: There was a high counter dividing the room lengthwise; that is, from the front about two-thirds of the way back, where it turned in an L-shape across the room. The front door opened into this office. Around the walls were placed the usual conveniences for writing messages, which were to be handed in at the little windows through the glass counter. I called frequently at the office for a message, which I pretended to be expecting.
It never came.
But I was not discouraged, and kept up the visit until the delivery clerk got to know me so well that he would answer my question before I put it. I thought it would be well enough to try something through this channel, and every time I went inside the office, I lounged listlessly about long enough to hear the sound of the instruments, and I never failed to hearsomethingfrom the sound of the brass-tongue tickers, but that something always happened to be of no consequence. It would usually be some private message, or perhaps a long order from the army headquarters office about some commissary stores.
I remember that I was impressed at the time, from the amount of telegraphing going on on that subject, that there was certainly a war between the Commissary Departments at Richmond and the officers in the front.
I did not dare tarry too long at a time, for fear that my constant attendance at the office might excite some suspicion.
It was only while I was on the alert to get something tangible about the proposed movement of the army that I was willing to take some extra risks to obtain official information.
It was evident, from the increased activity about the offices of the War Department, that something was up. Since I had heard of this proposed advance, I was giving the Departments considerable attention, and rarely missed an opportunity to see as far as I could from the outside what was going on inside.
From my bench, under the trees in the park, I could see that the office was being besieged almost constantly by crowds of people, mostly members of their Congress, who had to pass my seat on their way from the Capitol building to the War Department.
They went in groups of two to four at a time; sometimes a Congressman would be accompanied by an officer in the gray uniform.
As they passed me, their conversation seemed to be animated—in short, there was a general feeling among the crowd, as far as I could gather anything, that something important was pending.
Yet I had no facts—simply surmises, and gossip.
I could not learn much at the telegraph office, and had about abandoned the attempt in that direction, until I struck a plan thatwas a little risky, but, under the circumstances, I felt justifiable in undertaking almost anything.
Noticing a messenger leaving the War Department, I followed him at a respectful distance. He went straight to the telegraph office; so did I. I entered the door just a moment after him, and was carelessly edging toward the delivery clerk, to put my stereotyped interrogation to him, when he said in my hearing to the messenger:
"Shall we send dispatchesfrom the Presidentto Mrs. Davis at her home to-night?"
"There wont be any; he is expected back to-night."
Jeff Davis was at Manassas then. I felt really as if I had been derelict in my duty, in thus permitting the President to go out of town without my knowledge and consent. But he was coming back; that was comforting to me. I felt sure now that the rumors of an advance had been confirmed. I knew something was in contemplation, and I should not leave Richmond at that time—certainly not until I had ascertained what it was that they proposed doing, and when it was to be done.
I went straight to my room, wrote a short dispatch—a rather crude one—the translation of which was that:
"Jeff Davis had been to Manassas; something up." And before I slept it was in Colonel J. B. Jones' postoffice.
While I felt that my "dispatch" would ultimately go through to its destination at Washington all right, I was yet quite uneasy about this talked-of advance of the Rebels into Maryland, fearful that it might take place at once, or before my information could reach the North, through the blockade mail service, which was necessarily a little bit slow and uncertain. This fear kept me awake long after I had gotten into bed; and as I lay there alone in my room, in a Richmond hotel, brooding over the dangers of a Rebel invasion into Maryland and the humiliation that would attach to the capture or flight of President Lincoln and his officers from Washington, I became, I expect, somewhat wild and frenzied, and again resolved to myself, while in this disordered and disturbed frame of mind, that I would "stand by Jeff Davis"—for awhile—that for one,heshould not go to Washington.
I had been away from home now since July, during which time I had heard only of the Union Army through the Rebel sources, and, of course, everything favorable had been suppressed, while all the weaknesses or shortcomings of our Northern forces had been greatly exaggerated.
I had heard so much of this sort of talk during these three months that I had, perhaps, come to believe in a great deal of it. I was young but not inexperienced.
We soon learned how to interpret the numerous war rumors and gossip of the soldiers of both sides—a little later on. Every recruit, perhaps, has suffered—in anticipation—more from the "chin" of old veterans about a camp-fire, who always knew more of the proposed movements of the generals than they did themselves.
So it was that I was compelled to listen to the wild talk of the enthusiastic refugees, my Colonel and Elkton, after they came into the room that night. It was late—they had been having some fun,and were feeling greatly exhilarated over the street rumors of the coming fight. I do not mean to insinuate that they were tipsy, just because the Colonel got in bed without taking his clothes off, for he was able to talk plainly and volubly until he fell asleep from exhaustion.
The talk of those two fellows that night, about the dreadful things that were going to happen soon, had about set me wild, and I felt as if I should get out of bed and walk right straight up to Washington before daylight and tell Uncle Abe all about it. But I fell asleep, too, and dreamed, perhaps, as wildly as I had been planning.
There was one point settled in my mind, and that was that it was my best plan to remain in Richmond, at least, until something sure was discovered about the Rebel plans. Another was, that if I kept up my friendship with these two lively old boys, who thought they were taking care of me, that I should more easily get fuller and more satisfactory information. I was obliged, in order to prolong my stay, to go with them into their Maryland artillery. I could also more safely reach our army through the cover or disguise of a gray uniform. As they were to go to the front at once, I was willing to do anything that was necessary for the good of the Government, but I wanted very much to avoid as long as was possible the approaching necessity for joining the Rebel Army as a means to further my ends and objects.
I had already staved it off a long time. I could have returned to the North via the James river without trouble, and I had all my arrangements completed to do so, when the reported advance of Beauregard reached my ears, and I had delayed purposely to learn something about this.
While there had been no active operations, I had worked hard and faithfully in secret.
I had opened and kept up communication with our Government—through the rebel channels—that was one great success.
I was also on hand in their territory, and on the alert to discover and report any further information.
I had probably at last discovered something important was pending, and I decided to stay and see it out.
The next morning I was out of my bed early, and in the parkbefore my two comrades were out of their beds. I wanted to see if Jeff Davis had returned to Richmond, and, after breakfast, I took my accustomed walk, from which I could obtain a view of his office door.
I can recall that beautiful Autumn day on the Capitol Grounds as distinctly as if was but a day or two ago. The trees were putting on their most beautiful shades of color, the air was fresh and bracing, and I, having fully recovered from my recent weakness, was again so well and bright that I almost felt in my youthful, impulsive way, that it would be an easy task to go right up to Manassas that day to see what Mr. Davis was doing, and, if his movements were not satisfactory, I could continue my walk on to Washington.
There were at all hours of the day a great many people in the park. They were of all kinds, from the provisional Congressman and Virginia State Assemblyman, Confederate Government, down to refugees, citizens, soldiers and spies.
As I have previously said, there was always to be seen in this beautiful square any number of people, and on this October morning it seemed as if every person who wanted to go any place in the city were making it convenient to walk through the square to their destination.
There was eternally some Confederate soldiers and officers loafing about on the benches. I had become so accustomed to the boys in gray, in the streets, that I had forgotten to be at all afraid to meet with and to talk to them. This morning in particular I was perhaps unduly reckless, because I was so eager to obtain some further information about this advance.
Seeing a group of three nice looking soldiers talking together, a little distance from where I stood, I determined on the spur of the moment to join them, and, if an opportunity was afforded me, I would try to learn from them what they knew of the Rebel plans.
A group of three soldiers on a lark is not exactly the source that I would have applied to for information of an army's proposed movements six months later, but, as I have said, I was young then and fresh in the war service.
I approached, and addressed the boys a mild and meek inquiry as to a good place to enlist in "our army." This was a question that interested them all, and every fellow was at once eager to giveme the desired information, which was to the effect that they had the very best Captain in the army.
They belonged to Louisiana, they said, and were recruits from New Orleans, and were on their way then to join the army at Manassas, having arrived in Richmond the day previously, and were laying over until the officer in charge secured some necessary transportation or other authority at the War Office.
I was urged to go with them. They declared that there was to be some great fun soon—that their officer knew all about it and had told them of the plan for the campaign.
The story they had did not differ materially from that I had heard from our own boys, and I judged safely enough that, as they were but recently from New Orleans, they could not know much more about the army at Manassas than I did. While we talked together these few moments, we all stood in a close group on one of the broad walks, the conversation being carried on with such a degree of earnestness on their part that we scarcely noticed the persons who were constantly passing us, until one of the Virginia police-soldiers came up to us with his gun and politely ordered the crowd not to block up the way. We moved off a little and sat down to finish the contract they had undertaken—of inducing me to join them.
The police-soldier walked off a little piece, and then, taking a position where two paths joined, he stood like one of the statues for a moment; then, as if suddenly imbued with life, his arms flew about as he brought his gun to a "present." Passing him were two gentlemen—one quite portly and red-faced, the other a slender thin-faced gentleman in a dark suit of steel gray. As they came closer, we all watched to see who they might be, as the guard had saluted. The big-faced gentleman was doing all the talking—the thin-faced one was close to me before I recognized him. He was so intent on hearing the old man's talk that he did not look toward us at all; and, after they had passed, I said to the soldiers: "That's President Davis!" They were, of course, all anxious to get another glimpse of their great man, and one of them hastily followed after while one of the others said in his slow, deliberate way:
"I thought so; because he looked just like a Confederate postage stamp."
At that time Mr. Davis' picture was on the stamps recently issued.
I took this opportunity to get away from them, by saying that I must join one of our own Maryland regiments, and started off as if I must find one right away.
Jeff Davis was back in Richmond, as I had discovered with my own eyes.
In my daily rounds, the next source of information I sought was the newspapers offices, because the crowd that was always to be found about them seemed to do more satisfactory blowing than any that I could strike elsewhere. They commented pro and con upon the bulletins that were sometimes put out; or, in fact, it seemed as if this daily gathering at theExamineroffice, a few doors around the corner from Main, was a sort of a news clearing-house, where a great many of the citizens of the better class came to tell all they knew and to hear all that any others had to tell.
It was through this channel that I obtained some important clues.
While I was in Richmond, the Ball's Bluff, or Leesburg, disaster occurred, and most eagerly did I read all that appeared in Richmond about that distressing affair.
TheExaminerandWhigarticles on this "great victory," if reproduced to-day, would make some interesting reading, of a character that would stir up the blood of the old soldiers, even now, about as quickly as anything I know of.
The prevailing sentiment or feeling in Richmond at the time seemed to be, that this "great achievement of the Confederates" merely confirmed the opinions that had been previously uttered, based on the battle of Bull Run, "that one Southern was equal to five Yankees."
The patronizing and superior manner with which those Richmond people talked of the battle of Ball's Bluff, which, in fact, was almost a massacre, made such an impression on my mind that time has not and never can efface.
The Richmond papers, too, in those days, I recall very distinctly, found it necessary to apologize for, or defend, General Stone, for his part in the affair.
It was through this press channel that we heard of General Butler's operations in North Carolina. The old man had evidentlydone something down there that hurt very much, which they did not print, as the city press was filled almost every day with abuse of him and the Yankees.
I gathered that it was about Henry A. Wise, who had a son or a brother killed by Butler's operations. One would think, from the manner in which the Virginians went on about this "outrage," that the Yankees had no right to kill a Virginia gentleman under any circumstances.
While I am on the subject of the Richmond press, I must not forget to explain that, as printing paper was becoming quite scarce in the South, they were obliged to economize, and frequently the RichmondExaminerandWhigappeared in half-sheets and letters; the quality of the paper became so inferior as to resemble in appearance the reverse side of the cheapest wall-paper.
I sent to the North, through the blockade, several times, marked copies of the Richmond papers.
The PittsburghChronicleactually published, while I was yet in Virginia, an extract from one of those papers, in which were some caustic comments on a case of a certain well-known Presbyterian clergyman of Allegheny, who had been dismissed by his church there for some harsh expressions of sympathy for the South.
I was thanked by name for the "courtesy" in sending the paper, which was exhibited at the office as a great curiosity, and am thankful even now, on reflection, that the Pittsburgh papers were not on the Richmond exchange list.
There were no earthworks of any description around Richmond in 1861. This is a fact that is not generally known.
When I was before the Committee on the Conduct of the War, some months after the date of which I am writing, there was an effort being made by some of the Congressmen to prove to the country that McClellan's inactivity during the fall and winter was wholly inexcusable. This truth was fully brought out at the time and the facts proven.
There was probably not a day from August to November, 1861, that General McClellan could not have easily entered Richmond, with a very small force, from the Peninsula or via the South.
It was also fully established by the official papers of the Rebel authorities themselves that twenty-five per cent. of their army wasincapacitated on account of the prevailing epidemic in August and September, and that twenty-five per cent. more were absent, while the rest of the Rebel army was as badly demoralized by their victory as we were by our rout.
I do not attempt to criticise General McClellan in mentioning these facts. I refer simply to my own personal observations on this point, as testified to before the Committee of Congress, after I had gotten home again. I beg to refer the reader to volume 3, page 380 of the printed Government Record for a part of my sworn testimony referring to these dates.
After a long day's hunt for news, visiting about every place in the city, like a reporter, where I thought I could learn anything—among the rest, Libby Prison guard—I returned to the hotel in the evening.
Richmond hotels during the war were very like those in Washington City during the same period. Every evening the offices, billiard rooms, and even the bar-rooms, would be filled with that class of a city's population that usually congregate in these places. As the crowded hotel lobbies in Washington City nowadays are just the places the newspaper men seek to obtain news for their papers, so it was in Richmond as well as Washington during the war.
Everybody agreed on one point—that something was up, but just what it was nobody seemed able to tell, and I was unable to find out. But I had a night's adventure, which served to dispel any scruples I had entertained about the propriety of entering the Rebel Army.
I met at the hotel office my companion, the Colonel, who, upon seeing me, rushed over the office floor to say:
"Why, where the devil have you been? We have been hunting you every place."
I explained that I had been poking about the city all day, and was so tired that I was going straight to bed.
"No you ain't; we are going to initiate you to-night. We got our orders to-day. Elkton has his commission, and has authority to enlist his men—you know we have nearly all we need for our section. I am to be Sergeant in charge of the piece and you are to be Corporal."
Then, with a slap on the shoulder, he hauled me to one side,and whispered: "We have got it all fixed for our big bounty, and we want your papers right away."
I was cornered. I must go along or get out of town. There could be no possible excuse for further putting off this step.
I asked only the one question—"Where do we go?"
"Why, into Maryland, of course!"
Being further assured that this battery was to be at once sent to the front, I agreed to go along with him—to get the money. We found Elkton in our room, attending to the papers of some of the other recruits, and, at a favorable opportunity, I, with a trembling hand and a doubting heart, signed my assumed name to the papers, and by that act became aRebel soldier. There was one great relief to my mind while performing this necessary act. It was distinctly understood that I was to be made the Corporal, and, as such, it would be my duty to sight and fire the gun of our section. I determined that if the occasion should arise before I could get away from them, when it would become my duty as a Rebel soldier to sight that gun, that it shouldnever be pointed in a way to do any damage.
My object was to use this scheme as a disguise to again get to the front at Manassas, and find out what had been donethere. I could not learn anything at Richmond, and once more in the Rebel Army at Manassas, disguised in a gray uniform, I would find some way to anticipate any forward movements. I would also be "handy" to our army, and be able to reach our pickets quickly.
If I were caught going over to the enemy, with a Rebel jacket on, I'd be shot as a deserter; but I had the consolation of knowing that, if I were caught in any other clothes, I should be hung anyhow. While this was not a very comforting thought, I knew it was true.
I did not care much for the money that was to be paid to me; and authorized Elkton to settle my bills at the hotel and to retain the balance for me. He furnished the Colonel and me some spending money, and together we went out to "make a night of it" in Richmond.
The Colonel and I went first to a theatre, located on the street on which stood the Exchange and Ballard Hotel.
One of the players sang with dramatic effect some words suitable to the time and people, which was adapted to the French air of"La Marseillaise." He waved in one hand a French flag and in the other the Confederatebars. At a certain point in the song, the fellow threw to the floor and stamped upon—old glory—the Stars and Stripes. The wild cheers of approval and howls of applause from the large audience that went up at this dastardly exhibition of American treachery sent the cold chills down my marrow bone. I wondered then, and have never ceased to wonder, at the frequent exhibitions of contempt and dishonor for their old flag that were so freely and heartily indulged in by the Southern people during the war.
It did not occur to me at the time that I might accidentally meet or, at least, be seen—in a crowded theatre—by some person who would know something of my past experiences.
As we were slowly edging through the crowd, after the curtain had fallen, I noticed a tall fellow in front of us, who turned around to look back. I thought I had seen his face before, but I had been seeing so many faces lately, that I paid but little attention to him. I observed that he said something to his companion, as both turned around facing me, but, as the crowd kept pressing down the narrow aisle, they did not have a good chance to scan me too closely.
Becoming aware of their scrutiny, my suspicions became aroused. I began to hasten along, and nervously nudged the Colonel to push ahead more rapidly. We passed the two men—one of whom was in uniform—and as we did so, I heard one of them, say:
"That's him, ain't it?"
I didn't linger to hear what reply the other made, but shoved on toward the door, and had reached the vestibule when the voice behind called out—my right name!I was startled, but did not turn, being intent only on getting to the street as quickly as possible.
The Colonel, who was with me, had not noticed the affair at all; and the calling out of my real name had not attracted his attention, as I was known to him only by the fictitious name that I had assumed.
As I reached the door, and was about to hurry down the front steps, a hand was laid on my shoulder. I have no doubt that it was a pale face which turned around, expecting to meet some one that I certainly did not desire to see at that time.
I did not know him, though his pleasant face, which was covered with a broad grin, seemed familiar.
"Ain't you Mr. O. K., that was out in Texas with Major J——?"
I suppose that my surprised appearance was misunderstood for an expression of offended dignity I had assumed. This had the effect of putting him in doubt as to my identity, as he eyed me more closely, and gave me his name, and remarked he was one of a regiment that had been organized in that part of Texas in which I had spent the winter preceding the war, and had probably known me there, as a stranger naturally becomes an object of curiosity in that country.
As I did not want to run the risk of meeting any of my Texas uncle's friends, who might know of my interest in the affair at Fort Pickens—as the Texas boy—I mildly resented the proposed acquaintance. His companion relieved the embarrassment by suggesting, politely, that it was simply a mistake. When I had recovered sufficiently, I gave my fictitious name and introduced the Colonel, as a sort of endorser for my statement.
It was accepted with hesitancy, and we parted without stopping to further explain the matter.
I was now, seemingly, to all intents and purposes, abona fide"rebel." The position in which I had almost involuntarily placed myself was such, that it put me in a dangerous attitude toward both sides, and would necessitate considerable explaining in certain events. It was, in fact, a "straddle," that caused me a good deal of annoyance and trouble that I had not counted on before I entered into the arrangement.
After the little incident at the theatre, the Colonel and I went straight to our room at the hotel. He wanted to run around town a little longer, but I was not in the humor for taking any further risks of meeting any more of my Southern acquaintances, and I prevailed upon him to go with me to bed. After the lights were out, I had an opportunity to think over the day's doings before I slept. It was arranged between us that we should travel together as a pair, or as a team of fresh Maryland colts, wherever we should go. We were both to be attached to the one gun of the Third Maryland Battery of Artillery. That is the name of the organization, as will be found upon a reference to the records, and I haveno doubt my name is also set down there among the members of the company. Elkton was made the Lieutenant, while the "Colonel" was promoted to be Sergeant in charge of the piece, while I was Corporal and gunner.