_A Negro Spy.--Passage on a Steam Packet.--Lyrical Melodies.--Scobell
Deserts the Ship.--His Tramps Through Rebeldom._
The next afternoon, Webster and Doctor Gurley started for their point of
debarkation. The medical deserter was exceedingly downcast about the
loss of valuable papers, although he had entirely recovered from the
physical effects of his attack. He indulged in curses, loud and deep,
upon the perpetrator of the theft, and speculated with grave seriousness
as to the effect of their loss. Webster, who felt that he could be
liberal in dealing out his sympathy, was profuse in his expressions of
regret and condolence, though I am afraid, that an observer who was
acquainted with the facts of the case, would have detected a sly twinkle
of merriment in his eyes, that belied his words. They were driven to a
farm-house, situated on a little creek that ran in from the bay, where
they were met by a man named James Gough, to whom Webster had a letter
of introduction from Mr. Miller at the hotel. After reading the letter,
Mr. Gough invited the travelers to enter, and informed them that the
boat would attempt to cross the bay that night, if the weather would
permit. After partaking of a bountiful supper, the party repaired to the
landing, and although there were indications of a storm, the captain,
who was in waiting, determined to make an effort to get across. A large
amount of merchandise had already been placed on board, and soon after
the arrival of Webster and the Doctor, who were to be the only
passengers, they put off. Their trip was made in safety, and by midnight
they reached the Virginia side. Here they went to the house of a Mr.
Woodward, who was a partner with Mr. Gough, in shipping goods into the
rebel country, and who took charge of the cargo that came over with our
travelers in the boat.
Remaining at the house of Mr. Woodward during the night, on the
following morning they went to Tappahannock, where they boarded a packet
for Fredericksburg. Here they met a Colonel Prickett, who was an old
acquaintance of Doctor Gurley, and from the general conversation that
ensued, Webster obtained material information of the location of the
rebel forces. That evening they proceeded to Richmond, and Webster,
parting with his traveling companion, set about delivering some letters
which he had brought with him. Finding that several of his friends, from
whom he had hoped to receive information, were absent from the city, and
that it would be impossible to do much good service, he resolved to
return to Washington. He went to the office of the Secretary of War,
and, obtaining a pass to Norfolk, he returned by that route, taking
notes by the wayside, and arrived in Washington in due time.
John Scobell remained in Leonardstown a few days after Webster's
departure, mingling with the colored people of that locality, and
posting himself upon several points that would be of benefit to him
further on. The desire for freedom, and the expectation that the result
of the war would determine that question, had now become universal among
the colored men of the South. Although as yet debarred from taking up
arms in defense of their rights, their efforts in behalf of the Northern
troops were freely given when opportunity offered, and consequently,
Scobell made hosts of friends among the black-skinned people, who
advised him cheerfully and were profuse in their offers of assistance.
During the time that he remained in Leonardstown Scobell made his home
with an old negro who was an active member of the League, and who had
conceived a wonderful friendship for my bright and intelligent colored
operative. Uncle Turner, as he was called, was a genuine Virginia darky,
who, having been reared as a house servant, had been enabled to acquire
more than the average amount of intelligence, and obtaining his freedom,
had settled himself in Leonardstown, where he obtained a livelihood by
performing a variety of duties for the people in the town. Here, with
his aged wife, a fat, good-natured negress, he lived in comparative
comfort, and a more thorough abolitionist never existed than was Uncle
Turner.
Through this old negro, Scobell had made arrangements with a young
colored man to set him across the river in a skiff, and after spending
the day among his new-found friends, and amply provided with a
substantial lunch from Aunt Judy, Scobell made his way to the river
bank, where he found his man waiting for him, carefully concealed among
some bushes that grew along the shore.
After remunerating the boatman, and bidding him a hearty farewell,
Scobell started up the river. His first plan was to walk as far as
Dumfries, and from that point commence his operations among the rebel
camps, but after reflection, he concluded to make his way to the
Rappahannock, and endeavor to work his way on one of the river boats as
far as Fredericksburg, which would save him a walk of some fifty miles
and materially expedite his journey. He accordingly set out for the
river and, walking briskly, he found himself about noon at Leestown, a
small landing-place on the Rappahannock. Feeling somewhat fatigued by
his long tramp, he remained over night, and early on the following
morning repaired to the wharf, where he was in hopes of finding a boat
on which he could secure his passage. He had not long to wait, for
shortly after his arrival the packet boat "Virginia" steamed up to the
landing, and soon the men were engaged in putting on board a quantity
of miscellaneous freight, that was destined for Fredericksburg. Finding
that there was plenty of work to do, Scobell stepped quickly on board
and seeking the captain politely asked permission to work his passage.
The Captain, who was a kind and genial man at heart, although he
carefully veiled these characteristics under a rough exterior, and a
bluff and impetuous demeanor, listened to the request, and being in want
of some extra help, turned to Scobell and said:
"You black rascal, what do you want at Fredericksburg? Come now, no
lies, or I'll throw you into the river!"
"I done tell no lies, Massa Cap'n," replied Scobell, with a broad grin
overspreading his face, "but I've bin back in de kentry to see some ob
my folks dar, and I dun got no money fur ter git back."
"So you want me to take you to Fredericksburg, do you?" ejaculated the
Captain, good-naturedly. "Well, go below and tell the cook to put you to
work!"
Scobell was about to express his thanks, when the Captain blurted out:
"Clear out, d--n you! I've no time for talk now."
Scobell hurried below, and seeking out the cook was soon busily engaged
at work; before he had been very long employed he made a friend of his
sable instructor, and was as merry as a cricket. The run to
Fredericksburg was about twelve hours, but owing to shoal water they
were obliged to stop at Coulter's Wharf to wait for the rising of the
tide. In the evening the negro hands gathered on the deck around the
smoke-stack, and with the stars twinkling overhead, they made the shores
ring with their mirthful melodies. Among the party was an old negro, who
had spent almost his entire life upon the river, and who was an
excellent performer on the banjo, and he accompanied the singers with
his instrument. "Nelly Gray," "Bob Ridley," "Way down upon de Swanee
River," and a host of the most popular songs of the day were rendered in
a style that elicited the heartiest applause from the delighted
passengers. The climax of enjoyment was reached, however, when my
Scobell, in his splendid baritone, and accompanied by the old negro and
his banjo, sang that sweet old Scottish ballad:
"Maxwelton's braes are bonny,
Where early fa's the dew."
The applause which greeted him upon its conclusion was most hearty and
enthusiastic, and when he gave them
"A man's a man for a' that,"
the passengers crowded around him and began to ply him with eager
questions as to his knowledge of the music of the beloved bard of
Scotia. The idea of a darky singing Scotch ballads, and with such true
emotional pathos and sweetness, was such a novelty to them that all were
anxious to learn where he had heard them. Scobell briefly and modestly
informed them that he had been raised by a gentleman who was a native of
Scotland, who was himself a good singer, and that his master had taught
him the music he loved so well. The Captain, who was also a Scotchman,
and who had listened to the melodies with the tears trickling over his
rubicund nose, now stepped forward and said heartily:
"Look here, young fellow, I need an extra man on this boat, and I'll
give you forty dollars a month to work for me. The work is light--now
what do you say?"
Here was a dilemma entirely unexpected. Scobell had not only sung
himself into the good graces of the passengers, but of the rough old
Captain also. It was plain that this offer came from the very heart of
the old salt, who was as deeply touched by the melodies as was any one
else, and he wanted to secure Scobell's services as much for the songs
he could sing as for the work he could do.
Scobell bowed his thanks to the Captain, and said:
"I'm werry much obliged to yer Cap'n; I'se bin lookin' fur a job ebber
since I left ole Mississippi, an' I'll do my best to please you, sure."
"All right," replied the Captain. "It's time to turn in now, so go below
and tell the mate to take your time; your pay will commence from
to-day."
[Illustration: "_The work isn't hard. Now, what do you say._" P. 364.]
All hands went below, where Scobell duly reported to the mate, a bunk
was assigned to him and he was made one of the crew of the steam-packet
"Virginia." This was a rather different turn of affairs than he had
expected, but he had done the best he could under the circumstances, and
regretting that he was compelled to deceive the honest old Captain, he
turned in for the night and slept soundly.
When he awoke the next morning, the boat was in motion, and he knew that
he was on his way to Fredericksburg. How to get away was the next
question to be decided, but he resolved to await the operation of events
and adopt any chance that afforded for getting away. In due time the
boat landed at her destination and soon all was bustle and confusion in
discharging the freight. Scobell assisted manfully in landing the cargo,
and earned the encomiums of the Captain for his diligent labor. Learning
that the boat would not start on her return trip until the next morning,
he requested permission to go on shore until they were prepared to
start. This was readily granted by the unsuspecting and really
good-natured Captain, who also gave him a small sum of money to defray
his expenses, and cautioned him to report on time or the boat would
start without him. Scobell promised to be punctual, and then took his
leave.
It is not necessary to state that the "Virginia" on her down trip went
without the ballad-singing negro, for by the time she was ready to put
off, he was on his way to Dumfries and the Accoquan.
Carefully noting everything that came in his way he traveled through
Dumfries, Accoquan, Manassas and Centreville, and after spending nearly
ten days in these localities he finally made his way to Leesburg, and
thence down the Potomac to Washington. His experiences on this trip were
quite numerous and varied, and only a lack of space prevents their
narration. Sometimes, as a vender of delicacies through the camps, a
laborer on the earthworks at Manassas, or a cook at Centreville, he made
his way uninterruptedly until he obtained the desired information and
successfully accomplished the object of his mission.
His return to Washington was accomplished in safety and his full and
concise report fully justified me in the selection I had made of a good,
reliable and intelligent operative.