AT BEAUREGARD'S HEADQUARTERS--ON DUTY AT MANASSAS.
I didn't report to General Banks _that_ night--circumstances entirely
beyond my control prevented me from doing so. I was, by the "fortunes of
war," or my own carelessness, denied the privilege of proving to the
General that I was "smart" enough to get through his own lines and back
again from the enemy's country without the use of passes from his
headquarters. If this should reach the eye of General Banks, he will,
for the first time, read my official report of the scout, which I had
proposed to him in July, 1861, and will, I am sure, in his courteous
manner, accept, even at this late date, this apology or explanation for
my failure to keep my engagement with him.
Luckily for me, at that particular time I did not have in my possession
any passes from General Banks, or letter of introduction from the
Secretary of War, endorsing me as a competent spy. These I had left with
General Patterson a few days previously.
Leaving the two soldiers to further look after the road, in hope of
enticing my friend in--not that they were so anxious for the person of a
prisoner--but, as they said, it was important no one should escape to
report the fact that a station for observation was being maintained on
the heights.
Alongside of my officer I walked for quite a long distance, talking in a
general way upon the subject which was then uppermost in everybody's
mind--_i. e._, the recent battle of Bull Run. For good reasons, I
heartily agreed with his absurd conclusions. I knew full well the
importance of creating upon his mind the impression that I was a _bona
fide_ refugee, and with the instinctive shrewdness partly born of my
former experience I was successful in fully satisfying the officer that
the Southern army had secured another hearty supporter, or zealous
recruit. It was scarcely possible to undo the thing at that time, as the
whole South were wild in their enthusiasm after Bull Run, and to this
fact I may partially ascribe my escape from detection and execution.
The only fear that I entertained was, that I might meet either with some
Maryland refugees who might cross-question me too closely, or perhaps I
might again encounter the Rebel Spy I had met at General Patterson's
headquarters; or, worst of all, that some of those Pensacola troops, or
Texas acquaintances, might have been transferred to Beauregard's army,
and would recognize me.
A captive is always an object of curiosity. I must expect to be gazed
upon, stared at, and scrutinized wherever I should be taken.
I might explain away any objections that would offer to the refugee
story, as there was no evidence existing that I had recently acted the
part of a scout; but the Fort Pickens episode could not be so explained.
The mere discovery of my identity meant a speedy hanging, without the
form of a court-martial.
I believe I have not yet tried to describe my personal appearance at
that time.
I had, from a mere lad, been wearing my hair long, combed back of my
ears; despite the jeering remarks of my companions, my "back hair"
reached my shoulders, where, truth compels me to admit, it lay in better
curls than Buffalo Bill's, Texas Jack's, or, more recently, that of
"Jack Crawford," the cow-boy scout.
Probably my long hair was in part accepted by the rebels as an evidence
that I naturally belonged to the South, where the style was more common
than in the North. It will be remembered, too, in extenuation of my
fancy, that I had spent the previous winter in Texas, the climate of
which is favorable to the growth of hair on the cow-boys.
My dress, at the time of our surprise, consisted simply and only of a
fine, colored, traveling shirt with open rolling collar, red loose
necktie, dark trousers, and a coat of the same, topped off by a small,
soft, slouch hat; of course, I had shoes which were pretty well worn,
and my feet had become quite sore from so much walking. This was not a
very complete wardrobe out of which to fashion a costume for a disguise.
My face had become very much sun-burned, and, in bathing, while exposed
to the hot sun, my shoulders had become blistered, so that the flannel
or cloth overshirt peeled the skin off in a most uncomfortable way.
Reaching the advance of the Rebel outposts, which were located at an
old house--half farm and half tavern--situated on the bank of the little
stream at the ford or point where the highway or pike crossed which led
to Manassas, we found assembled quite a number of Rebel cavalry
soldiers, who were entertaining in their exuberant, self-satisfied way,
quite a crowd of civilians who had been attracted to the place.
Into this group of eager, inquisitive Rebels I was, to their surprise,
introduced as a "prisoner who wanted to join our army."
It may be surmised that I had, with as great eagerness as themselves,
anxiously glanced among the faces, that were all turned towards us as we
approached, to discover if among them were any whom I had ever seen
before.
Providence, on this occasion at least, was not "on the side of the
heaviest battalion," but with the solitary "refugee," who breathed a
sigh of relief upon failing to discover one familiar face.
Unfortunately for my peace of mind, there were among the civilian
visitors to these soldiers one of those pompous Virginian 'Squires of
middle age who, though attired in a fancy grey uniform coat and
civilian's pants and hat, was not, I was informed, really in their
service. The patronizing manner peculiar to this class of gentlemen was,
by reason of his age, indulged by the young officer in command, who
permitted him to dictate, like a country 'squire, the manner in which
the "culprit" should be disposed of.
It was arranged by my captors, through this meddlesome old 'Squire's
influence, that I should be escorted to General Beauregard as a
prisoner, leaving for him or his officers to decide upon the
advisability of accepting my story and services.
The pompous old Virginia militia Colonel was merely gratifying his own
selfish vanity by securing me as his prey, proposed to take me in his
buggy direct to the General, whom he wished to communicate with
personally.
"How is it that your companion in the uniform ran away on the approach
of our troops?" said the old wind-bag, addressing me in a manner so
haughty that I immediately resented it, and replied in a tone that some
of the bystanders rather enjoyed:
"Oh, he was one of the Bull Run fellows; I am not responsible for him."
I did not relish the idea of going into General Beauregard's presence
in this old Colonel's charge, lest he might, in trying to magnify his
own importance, so represent my capture as to create in the minds of the
officers at headquarters a suspicion or doubt as to my motive.
The young officer was convinced that I was O. K., and to him I privately
expressed the wish that he would not report me an unwilling prisoner, or
that I had tried to escape, assuring him that if such had been my
intention I could easily have accomplished it. He agreed with me, and,
at my further request, actually gave me, privately, a little note to
present in my own defense, if I should need it.
So it came about that I shared the hospitality of the Virginia
gentleman's buggy, as we drove along the road that evening _en route_ to
General Beauregard's headquarters with a pleasant note of introduction
from a Rebel officer in my pocket, in which was recited his belief that
I had voluntarily entered the lines as a refugee.
We spent the night in that vicinity, at some neighbor's farmhouse.
When the old gentleman and I were again alone on the road, I began to
work on his patriotism a little, but it was not exactly a success. His
manner was not congenial at all. He had with him a fine English
repeating rifle, which he placed between us, with the butt resting on
the floor of the buggy, and, as we drove along that day, I had it in my
mind for the first time in my life to commit a murder.
As we were slowly ascending one of the mountains, I remarked to the
Colonel that I believed I'd walk up the mountain, stretch my legs, and
relieve the horse for awhile, when he glanced at me and, with a hateful,
overbearing sneer on his face, said:
"You wont get out of this buggy until I put you into General
Beauregard's hands."
I felt a wicked sensation dart through me that I had never before
experienced, and instinctively my own eyes rested on the gun; the
Colonel saw my face, and reached for his gun not a moment too soon; my
self-possession came to me, and I merely said:
"You're not driving a nigger now."
I still had my loaded pistol concealed in a belt under my clothes. I had
acquired while in Texas the Southern accomplishment of learning its
use, and was expert and quick enough to have put its contents in the
blatant old fool's ear, and would probably have done so had I not been
restrained by the fear that the report would bring about us a crowd of
Rebels.
For an hour after this incident we drove along in sullen silence. I felt
in my soul that I was being driven like a condemned criminal to the
gallows, and this old Colonel was merely my hangman, whom I ought to
shoot like a rat.
After cool reflection I concluded that, with the officer's note in my
possession, I would be able to counteract any unfavorable impressions he
might try to make. I had not attempted to commit any act in Virginia
that he could prove which would operate against me. The only matter I
had to fear was the discovery of my identity as the person who had
played the spy in Florida; but as that was many hundred miles away, I
felt that I was comparatively safe.
Beside this, I wanted most earnestly to see General Beauregard myself,
and to visit his army at Manassas, and pretended that I was glad to have
the use of the old man's buggy, instead of having to trudge along on
foot.
The approach to the outskirts of the Rebel army was evident from the
frequent appearance of men in gray clothes, who were apparently
straggling along the road bound to their homes. A great many of them
seemed to have formed the conclusion that, having whipped the Yankees at
Bull Run, the war was over, or, if it wasn't, it ought to be, and they
could return to their homes in peace, at least until wanted again.
At certain points along the highway, such as bridges, toll-gates and
cross-roads, we were halted by guards, who, like the stragglers, were
quite communicative to our Colonel, and were of the general opinion that
there was no longer any necessity for any particular stringency in
enforcing orders, as the war would soon be over; we were, in
consequence, permitted to drive ahead without delay.
My old Colonel had taken occasion at several points to call attention to
his "prisoner" in a patronizing way. I was pleased and encouraged to
note that the air of importance with which the old man attempted to
surround himself did not evoke the laudation that he expected.
As we drove up to a house by the roadside to water the horse, I mildly
suggested that I should like an opportunity to wash some of the dust and
perspiration from my face and brush up a little before being presented
to the General. My guardian angel, probably thinking it would serve his
purpose better to show me up in as unfavorable an appearance as
possible, bluntly refused to accord me this privilege, saying, as he
drove off:
"I'm in a hurry to get there, as I don't want to have you on my hands
all night."
We were now close to the railroad tracks, along side of which were
numerous camps, or those that had been abandoned for more comfortable
location out toward the front. I need not tell old soldiers how
uncomfortable and desolate the rear or outskirts of an army are,
especially in the miserable country about Manassas.
The roads were crowded with all sorts of vehicles, from artillery and
ammunition wagons, driven by colored boys and guarded by frisky
black-horse cavalrymen, to the two-wheeled carts run by decrepit old
colored people who were peddling "truck" for the benefit of their
Virginia-Yankee owners, whom, by the way, the real Southern people from
the South said at that time were worse than any other sort of Yankee.
Of course the road was dusty--Virginia roads are either dusty or muddy,
and, being so much crowded, our progress became a little slow. As we
drove along through that Rebel army that evening, I am sure there was
not a face in all the crowd that I did not eagerly scan, in nervous
anticipation of meeting some one who might recognize me. When the old
man was told we were off the road to headquarters, I felt as much
annoyed as himself at the delay in reaching General Beauregard's
headquarters.
I observed particularly an entire absence of anything that looked like
preparations for an advance. Of this I became more satisfied the further
on we got, both from the appearance of men traveling to the rear and
from the careless appearance of the troops toward the front.
Artillery was parked in shady places; the horses were not corralled
close to the guns; in fact, everything was very much in the same
disordered condition that I had observed in our army.
About an hour before sundown we reached Beauregard's headquarters. As we
drove up to the fence the old man hailed a colored boy, and bade him
tie his horse; then, turning to me with a smile of relief, he said:
"Here we are; get out!"
I obeyed with an alacrity that caused him to stare at me in wonder, as
he stretched his sleepy legs and got out after me, walking beside me
with his gun in hand until suddenly halted by a sentry on guard, to whom
my Virginian said:
"I want to see General Beauregard," and proceeded to walk ahead, as if
he was a privileged character, but the sentry called down the old fool's
dignity by peremptorily ordering him to "halt," as he brought his gun to
a carry. There were some sharp words spoken, but the guard understood
his business, and gave the old man his first lesson in military
etiquette, that no doubt lasted for all the war. An officer near by, who
had been attracted by the slight rumpus, approached the sentry, who
properly saluted him, and, in answer to the officer's questions, began
to give an account of the trouble, but had barely begun to speak when
the old farmer, swelling like a turkey-gobbler, ignoring the soldier,
and endeavoring to talk over the head of the officer, in a loud voice
said: "I want to see General Beauregard _at once_, and I'll have this
fellow punished for insulting a gentleman."
The officer, who was a gentleman, mildly suggested that the man had been
only doing his duty and obeying orders, but my friend's choler was up
and, refusing all explanations, demanded an immediate interview with the
General.
The officer now began to get mad and, in a commanding tone, inquired:
"What is your business, sir, with the General?" to which the old
gentleman replied: "I will explain my business when I see the General."
"Well, sir, you will have to give me your name and the nature of your
business, and I will advise you as to the General's pleasure."
"My name, sir, is Colonel ----, of Virginia, by gad; and my business is
to turn over a prisoner whom we caught prowling in our county, sir;
there he stands, right there, sir."
Turning to look at me, the officer said to the Colonel: "Well, you
should escort your prisoner to the provost-marshal. General Beauregard
is not entertaining prisoners."
After a few more passages at arms it was settled that I should be left
in charge of the guard while the _Colonel_ and the _General_ had an
interview.
While he was telling _his_ story to General Beauregard, which, I
suspect, referred more to the "insult" to himself than to my dangerous
character, the officer, who had returned to me, politely said something
about "old fools." I agreed with him, and took occasion to add my mite
of experience with the old fool, and saying that I had merely come from
a patriotic impulse from my own home to do something for _the country_,
but had been treated with so much indignity by this old man I was sorry
I had left home.
In his state of mind my interpretation of the story had a most agreeable
effect, which was further strengthened by the note from the officer who
had captured me. As soon as he read this, turning to me, he politely
asked to be excused, as he returned to the General who was being bored
to death by my Colonel.
In a moment more General Beauregard and my Colonel made an appearance,
the latter still talking earnestly. The General was bare-headed, his
coat unbuttoned, and presented to my vision the appearance of a pleasant
Jewish gentleman. He looked at me while the old gas-bag was exhausting
itself, but did not speak a word either to me or the Colonel until my
young officer spoke up and said:
"I think, General, I had better relieve this gentleman of the
responsibility of the care of the young Marylander," at the same time
handing to the General the note I had given him.
General Beauregard again looked at me as he finished reading it, and,
turning to the officer, said:
"Yes, yes, that will do."
And bidding the Colonel a good evening, as he excused himself, walked
off.
It must not be thought that the Virginia Colonel believed, or for an
instant suspected my true character; _his_ only object was to secure
some attention for himself by pressing me upon the General personally;
and his own egotism defeated his purpose, to my very great relief.
The Colonel being thus summarily disposed of, the officer, who
introduced himself to me as an aide to General Beauregard, began to
apologize for my ungracious reception in the Southern Army.
I told him my desire was to connect myself with some of the Baltimore
refugees, and I was informed that I should have the opportunity soon;
but at that time I think there were no distinct Maryland organizations in
their Army. When I suggested that, as I was without money, I must work
to earn a living, I meekly observed that being a railroader at home I
should like an opportunity to be employed somewhere in that capacity, as
I should be able to do justice to myself and my employers better there
than elsewhere until I could be able to unite with the army.
"Just the thing; we need experienced men on the roads here now as much
as we require soldiers," and, turning to an orderly, he directed him to
accompany me to a certain official who had charge of the railroad
transportation with the _request from General Beauregard that his
services be availed_ of, as he is an experienced railroad man.
It was after dark when I became finally located, and, singular as it may
seem, I was that night an occupant of a couch in the railroad depot,
_within sound of the telegraph instruments operating between Manassas
and Richmond_, and this by _express_ authority of _General Beauregard_,
instead of being a prisoner in a guard-house waiting for execution.
I have been careful to give all the details of this day at perhaps
tedious length, not that it was interesting, but because of the bearing
on the subsequent events, which I believe are as remarkable as anything
yet recorded in the secret service of the war.