_General McClellan in Command of Ohio.--I am Engaged for the War.--The
Secret Service.--A Consultation.--Webster starts for Rebeldom._
At the outbreak of the rebellion many difficulties were encountered
which the people and their leaders were ill-prepared to surmount, and
many expedients were resorted to in order to equip and officer the
troops as they arrived. The State of Ohio, the militia of which General
McClellan had been called upon to command by Governor Dennison, was no
exception to this rule; but that gentleman realized the importance of
calling some one to the command of the volunteers, upon whose knowledge,
judgment and experience he could place implicit reliance. He therefore
turned to Captain McClellan, who was a graduate of West Point, and had
been a captain in the regular army, but who had for some years past been
devoting himself to the management of a prominent railroad enterprise in
the State.
The Governor at once sent a communication to the general government,
requesting that McClellan should be restored to his old rank in the
army, and that the duty of organizing the Ohio volunteers should be
assigned to him. To this request no answer was received, and it was
afterwards learned that the Governor's letter, owing to the interruption
of communications with Washington from all points, had not reached its
destination. Failing, therefore, to receive any reply from the general
government, and being thus forced to rely upon his own resources,
Governor Dennison at once summoned McClellan to Columbus, where the
latter applied himself earnestly to the work of organizing the numerous
volunteer regiments which offered their services to the country. The
State laws were changed in such a manner as to allow the Governor to
select commanding officers for these volunteers outside of the members
of the State militia, and very soon afterward the Ohio troops were
commanded by thoroughly competent men, who had made military movements
the subject of scientific study.
On the third day of May a "Department of the Ohio" was formed,
consisting of the combined forces of Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, and
this department, by order of General Scott, was placed under the command
of General McClellan.
The Ohio troops, as they arrived, were mainly located at Camp Dennison,
which was situated in a valley about sixteen miles northwesterly from
the city of Cincinnati. This was the largest and the chief camp in the
State, and here the volunteers received that thorough instruction and
training so essential in preparing for the rigors of war.
As I have stated, my personal acquaintance with George B. McClellan had,
from its earliest incipiency, been of the most agreeable and amicable
nature, and when I called at his house in Ludlow street, as I did
immediately upon my arrival in Cincinnati, I was received with genuine
cordiality. After we were closeted together I explained fully to him the
character of the business that had called me to Washington, and how the
complication of affairs at the seat of government necessitated so much
delay that I had found it imperative upon me to leave without arriving
at any definite understanding with the President.
The General had already been advised of his elevation in rank, and among
other things desired to consult with me in relation to his affairs at
the War Department.
I need not stop to give the details of that interview. His object in
sending for me was to secure my aid and co-operation in the organization
of a secret service for his department, and finding me more than willing
to do all in my power to help along the cause of the Union, he
immediately laid before me all his plans.
Our business was settled. It arranged that I should assume full
management and control of this new branch of the service, and that I
should at once enter upon the discharge of the multifarious duties
attending so responsible a position. The General then informed me that
he would write to General Scott for permission to organize this
department under his own personal supervision; and he also agreed to
submit the project to Governor Dennison, of Ohio, with a request to that
gentleman to solicit the co-operation of the Governors of Illinois,
Indiana, Michigan and Wisconsin, in sustaining the organization.
To this arrangement I gave a ready assent, and we then entered upon the
discussion of affairs requiring immediate attention. Several measures,
more or less important, had suggested themselves to my mind while the
General was talking, and in the course of the conversation which
followed, I presented them for his consideration. It was a relief to me
to find that at the outset there was no clash of opinion between us, and
I felt confident that there was not likely to be any in the future.
For several days my time was principally taken up in private
consultations with General McClellan, in laying out a line of
operations, by which I was to assist in making arrangements for bringing
my own force into active duty at the earliest possible hour. I rented a
suite of rooms and fitted up an office in Cincinnati, where I called
about me some of the most capable and trustworthy detectives in my
employ, and impressed upon them the great importance of the tasks that
were about to be imposed upon them.
The general informed me that he would like observations made within the
rebel lines, and I resolved to at once send some scouts into the
disaffected region lying south of us, for the purpose of obtaining
information concerning the numbers, equipments, movements and intentions
of the enemy, as well as to ascertain the general feeling of the
Southern people in regard to the war. I fully realized the delicacy of
this business, and the necessity of conducting it with the greatest
care, caution and secrecy. None but good, true, reliable men could be
detailed for such service, and knowing this, I made my selections
accordingly; my thoughts reverting first of all to Timothy Webster.
Within six hours after the commander had expressed his wishes to me,
Timothy Webster was on his way to Louisville, with instructions to
proceed southward from that city to Memphis, stopping at Bowling Green
and Clarkesville on the way.
In Webster's case it was not necessary to devote much time to
instructions, except as to his line of travel, for he was a man who
understood the whole meaning of a mission like this, and one who would
perform his duty with that faithfulness and ability by which he had
fairly earned the confidence I now reposed in him.
Within a few days I also sent out other scouts, singly and in pairs, on
the different routes that had been carefully prepared for them, and in a
short time quite a number of my best operatives were engaged upon more
or less difficult and dangerous tasks, all tending to the same end.
In organizing and controlling this secret service, I endeavored to
conceal my own individual identity so far as my friends and the public
were concerned. The new field of usefulness into which I had ventured
was designed to be a secret one in every respect, and for obvious
reasons I was induced to lay aside the name of Allan Pinkerton--a name
so well known that it had grown to be a sort of synonym for detective. I
accordingly adopted the less suggestive one of E. J. Allen; a _nom de
guerre_ which I retained during the entire period of my connection with
the war. This precautionary measure was first proposed by the General
himself, and in assenting to it I carried out his views as well as my
own. This ruse to conceal my identity was a successful one. My true name
was known only to General McClellan, and those of my force who were in
my employ before the breaking out of the rebellion, and by them it was
sacredly kept. Indeed, I doubt if McClellan has ever divulged it to this
day, if I may judge by the frequent occurrence of such incidents as the
following:
A short time since, while on a visit to my New York agency, I chanced to
meet one of my old army friends, General Fitz-John Porter. He recognized
me, gave me a hearty greeting, and proceeded to address me as Major
Allen, after the custom of by-gone days. I permitted the conversation
to go on for some time, and then said:
"Are you not aware, General, that the name of E. J. Allen, which I used
during the war, was a fictitious one?"
He looked at me, as if to satisfy himself that I was not jesting, and
then exclaimed:
"Fictitious! You are not in earnest, Major?"
I assured him that I was never more so.
"Why, I never suspected such a thing. What, then, is your true name?"
"Allan Pinkerton," I replied.
"Allan Pinkerton!" he ejaculated.
His astonishment knew no bounds, and he declared it was the first
intimation he had ever had that Allan Pinkerton and Major Allen were one
and the same person.
It was on the thirteenth of May that Timothy Webster left Cincinnati on
his trip southward. He arrived at Louisville, Ky., late in the night,
and remained there until the following day, when he pursued his course
into the heart of that self-satisfied State which only desired to be
"let alone."
It is not my purpose to give in detail all the events of Webster's
journey, as there was much that would only prove tedious at this late
day, though at that time regarded as of the utmost importance to the
country. Shrewd, wide-awake, and keen as a blood-hound on the scent, he
allowed nothing to escape him, but quietly jotted down every item of
intelligence that could possibly be of advantage to the Union army, and
picked up many important points, which would have escaped the notice of
a man of less detective experience and ability.
He stopped a day or two at Bowling Green, Ky., and then proceeded on to
Clarkesville, Tenn. He made friends of all he met, and cleverly
ingratiated himself into the good graces of those whom he believed might
be of service to him. He was a "Hail, fellow! well met," "A prince of
good fellows," a genial, jovial, convivial spirit, with an inexhaustible
fund of anecdote and amusing reminiscences, and a wonderful faculty for
making everybody like him. He partook of soldiers' fare in the rebel
camp, shook hands warmly with raw recruits, joked and laughed with petty
officers, became familiar with colonels and captains, and talked
profoundly with brigadier-generals. He was apparently an enthusiastic
and determined rebel, and in a few cunningly-worded sentences he would
rouse the stagnant blood of his hearers till it fairly boiled with
virtuous indignation against Yankees in general, and "Abe Linkin" in
particular.
Webster's talent in sustaining a _role_ of this kind amounted to
positive genius, and it was this that forced me to admire the man as
sincerely as I prized his services. Naturally, he was of a quiet,
reserved disposition, seldom speaking unless spoken to, and never
betraying emotion or excitement under any pressure of circumstances.
His face always wore that calm, imperturbable expression denoting a
well-balanced mind and a thorough self-control, while the immobile
countenance and close-set lips showed that he was naturally as
inscrutable as the Sphinx. Many of his associates were of the opinion
that he was cold and unfeeling, but _I_ knew there could be no greater
mistake than this; _I_ knew that a manlier, nobler heart never existed
than that which beat within the broad breast of Timothy Webster; and I
knew that, reserved and modest as he was, he was never wanting in
courtesy, never derelict in his duty, never behind his fellows in acts
of kindness and mercy.
It was when he was detailed for such operations as the one in question
that his disposition underwent a complete metamorphosis. Then his
reserve vanished, and he became the chatty, entertaining boon companion,
the hero of the card-table, the story-teller of the bar-room, or the
lion of the social gathering, as the exigencies of the case might
require. He could go into a strange place and in one day surround
himself with warm friends, who would end by telling him all he desired
to know. In a life-time of varied detective experience, I have never met
one who could more readily and agreeably adapt himself to circumstances.
Webster represented himself as a resident of Baltimore, and gave graphic
accounts of the recent troubles in that city; of the unpleasant position
in which the "friends of the cause" were placed by the proximity and
oppression of Northern troops, and of the outraged feelings of the
populace when the "Lincoln hirelings" marched through the streets of the
Monumental City. His eyes seemed to flash with indignation during the
recital, and it would have been difficult indeed to induce his audience
to believe that he was acting a part, or that his heart was not with the
South.
On the morning of his departure from Clarkesville quite a number of
soldiers and citizens, who had become attached to him during his brief
sojourn with them, accompanied him to the depot, shook him warmly by the
hand at parting, and earnestly wished him God-speed. He told them all
that he hoped to see them again soon, and waved them a smiling adieu
from the platform of the car, as the train whirled him away toward
Memphis.
As the train stopped on the east bank of the Tennessee river, and the
passengers swarmed out of the cars, Webster noticed a man take the
conductor aside and engage in earnest conversation with him for a few
moments. This man was a dark-complexioned, sharp-visaged, long-haired
individual, clad in civilian's garb, and wearing a broad-brimmed hat.
There was an air of mystery about him which attracted more than a
passing glance from the scout, and caused the latter to keep an eye on
him thereafter.
The passengers were obliged to cross the river in a ferry-boat. The
train going south was in waiting on the other side, and its conductor
stood on the bank alone, making entries in his memorandum-book. As soon
as the boat touched the land the man with the long hair and
broad-brimmed hat sprang ashore and approached the conductor, to whom he
began to talk in the same hurried, nervous manner that he had done to
the one on the other side. As the time for starting approached, the
mysterious stranger and the conductor walked toward the train together,
conversing excitedly as they went.
"There's something up," thought Webster, as he boarded the train.
"Perhaps that fellow is on the look-out for new-comers like myself; but
we'll see whether he is sharp enough to catch a weasel asleep."
For the first twenty miles after leaving the Tennessee river, the road
lay through an uncultivated region of swamps and heavy timber. At every
station along the route uniformed men, heavy guns, car-loads of muskets
and ammunition were seen, indicating general and active preparations for
war, while the secession flag was flying in the breeze, and the music of
fife and drum was frequently borne to the ear. At Humboldt, where the
train arrived at four o'clock in the afternoon, they were delayed for
some time, and Webster improved the opportunity to look around him and
to procure his dinner. The man with the broad-brimmed hat seated himself
almost opposite Webster at table, who noticed that his restless,
inquisitive eyes were kept busy scrutinizing every face that came within
range of his vision. He did not address himself to any one during the
progress of the repast, and after hurriedly satisfying his own appetite,
he walked out upon the platform of the depot, where he stood intently
watching the other passengers as they returned to the train.
Webster, as he crossed the platform, instinctively felt that those
searching eyes were riveted upon him as if they would pierce him
through, but he did not evince the slightest degree of trepidation or
uneasiness under the ordeal. Assuming an air of quiet unconsciousness,
he sauntered past the man without seeming to notice him, and entered the
smoking-car, coolly lighted a cigar, drew a Nashville newspaper from his
pocket, and settled himself to his reading. He saw no more of the
mysterious stranger during the remainder of the journey, but on
alighting from the train at the Memphis depot, the first object that met
his gaze was the wearer of the broad-brimmed hat.
Arriving in Memphis at nine o'clock in the evening, Webster went
directly to the Worsham House, where he intended to stay while in the
city. While registering his name he observed a military officer in full
uniform standing at his elbow, watching him closely as he wrote. Several
other new arrivals placed their signatures after Webster, and he then
noticed that the officer was engaged in making a copy of names and
addresses on a piece of paper.
While watching this proceeding, his attention was distracted by some one
hastily entering the hotel office. It was his mysterious
fellow-traveler, who, stepping into the center of the room, glanced
quickly around, apparently looking for some particular face. The search
was evidently successful, for, walking up to one of the men who had just
arrived on the train from the North, he tapped him on the shoulder and
beckoned him.
After a few moments' conversation, during which the new-comer appeared
to be both surprised and frightened, the two left the hotel together and
walked up the street arm in arm.
Two citizens who were lounging near the door had been interested
spectators of this incident, and Webster heard one of them inquire:
"What does that mean?"
"It means that the stranger is under arrest," replied his companion.
"Under arrest? And who is the man who arrested him?"
"Oh, he is a member of the safety committee."
"But what crime has the stranger committed, that he should thus be taken
into custody?"
"Nothing, perhaps; but the fact that he is a stranger from the North, is
sufficient to mark him as an object of suspicion."
"Isn't that a little severe?"
"Severe? It's a necessity in these times. For my part, I am in for
hanging every Northern man who comes here, unless he can give the most
satisfactory proof that he is not a spy."
The rest of the conversation did not reach Webster's ear, and, being
much fatigued by his day's journey, he soon retired, to seek that much
needed rest which slumber only could afford.
He rose at an early hour in the morning, feeling much refreshed. On
entering the dining-room he found it crowded with guests, the majority
of whom wore the uniform and shoulder-straps of Confederate officers.
The conversation around the table was upon the all-absorbing theme which
at that time was uppermost in every mind, and the scout was both amused
and edified by what he heard. He did not long remain a silent listener,
but taking his cue at the proper moment he entered easily and naturally
into the conversation himself, and his pleasing address and intelligent
observations commanded at once the respectful attention of those around
him.
After breakfast Webster determined to ascertain whether or not he was
under the surveillance of the vigilance committee, and he accordingly
left the hotel, and wended his way toward the post-office.
He had not proceeded far when he noticed a man who appeared to be
following him on the opposite side of the street. Desiring to satisfy
himself upon this point he walked on for several blocks, and then
dropped into a saloon. Remaining there a sufficient length of time for
the man to pass from view, in case he did not stop in his onward course,
he emerged from the saloon and retraced his steps toward the hotel. As
he did so he noticed the stranger on the other side of the street,
dogging him as before. This left no doubt in his mind that he was being
shadowed, and he resolved to be guarded in his movements, to refrain
from writing any reports or making any notes that could possibly betray
him. He returned to the office and bar-room of the Worsham Hotel, and
spent an hour or two reading and smoking. While thus occupied, three
military officers entered and stood near the bar engaged in animated
conversation. Webster sauntered toward them, and heard one of the
trio--a man whom the others addressed as "Doctor"--remark emphatically:
"Yes, gentlemen, that is a true principle. It will not do to let a man
set foot on Kentucky soil until the Northern troops disregard the
neutrality of that State."
Catching the drift of the conversation, Webster stepped forward and
said:
"I beg pardon, sir; will you permit me to ask one question?"
The three officers turned toward him, with expressions of mild surprise
in their faces, and the Doctor replied:
"Certainly, sir; certainly."
"Do you suppose," added Webster, "that Kentucky will allow the Northern
army to march through the State without showing fight?"
"Not by a jug-full," was the prompt response. "The moment the Northern
army crosses the Ohio river, Kentucky will rise in arms and take sides
with the South."
"If she doesn't," said Webster, with much apparent warmth, "she will
prove herself unworthy of the respect of any true Southern men!"
The Doctor's face brightened up, and he laid his hand approvingly on the
scout's shoulder.
"May I ask where you are from?"
"I was born in Kentucky and reared in Maryland," was the quiet reply,
"and I am now direct from Baltimore."
"Baltimore!" ejaculated the whole trio in chorus; and the next moment
were all shaking hands in the most vigorous fashion.
"Baltimore!" repeated the Doctor, his face red with his recent exertion.
"My friend, we are always glad to meet a Baltimorean, for we know there
is many a true man in that city who would help us if he could. May I ask
your name, sir?"
"Webster--Timothy Webster."
"A devilish good name. Mine is Burton. My friends all call me Doctor
Burton. Allow me to introduce you to Colonel Dalgetty and to Captain
Stanley of the Arkansas Rifles."
The introduction was cordially acknowledged on both sides, and Webster
then said:
"Gentlemen, I was about to call for a drink when I heard you speak of
Kentucky. I am happy to know that there is still hopes for that State.
Will you drink her health with me?"
And in the clinking of the glasses, and the quaffing of their favorite
beverages, the new link of friendship was forged.
[Illustration: RUN DOWN BY CAVALRY.]