RICHMOND--A CLOSE SHAVE.
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 touched my 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 of getting 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 to _where_ I 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 the Rebel 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 that _his_ boys 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,
_before_ the 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 and _relieve_ Baltimore."
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 "receive _me_ in
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 I _must_ find 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 crowd about 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 hear _something_ from 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 that was 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 dispatches _from the President_ to 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.