In my hurry to go down to the river, I had not taken sufficient care to

get the bearings of our newly-located camp, and on my return at dark I

experienced considerable difficulty in finding my way home. In my

bewilderment, I ran afoul of so many camps and extra sentries that I was

detained until quite late.

Our regiment was acting as Provost-Guard at Gen. Burnside's

headquarters, and, as almost everybody knew where headquarters were to

be found, I finally got on the right track.

It was fortunate for me, personally, that we were at headquarters, as I

was enabled to at once make acquaintances that became useful to me.

With what exalted feelings I should have rushed over one of those

pontoon bridges and charged up the streets to Geno's house, if I had

been there at the right time, may be imagined. The anxiety and eagerness

with which she must have looked for me among the first of the invaders I

must leave to the imagination or fancy of the romantically-disposed

young lady readers who may be following this narrative.

Captain Wells' house being located close by the river bank, near the

point at which one of the pontoons was laid down, I have no doubt that

its roof sheltered some of Barksdale's Sharpshooters, who so forcibly

resisted this work of the Engineer battalion.

When we joined Burnside, we found that our regiment, the Second Regular

Cavalry, was acting as Provost-Guard, one company doing duty as a

headquarters or body-guard.

This took me personally right into the big family at the Army of the

Potomac headquarters. I was delighted at this prospect. I realized that

I should henceforth be privileged to enjoy riding a good horse in the

cavalcade that always dashed along in the wake of headquarters. In

addition to this, I should personally have the opportunity to rub

against the headquarters men, which would also give me the facilities

for knowing pretty nearly what was going on in advance of the other

boys. There were other agreeable advantages in being at headquarters, as

any old soldier who is not cranky with envy will readily admit.

One of these, which I appreciated very much indeed, was that, after I

became a fancy Orderly, and stood around with clean clothes on, and wore

white gloves, I enjoyed also the very best of rations.

I became familiar with the Surgeon's Hospital Steward, who happened to

be from my native city, so we messed together. It therefore became one

of the privileges at headquarters, especially with the Hospital Steward,

to draw rations from the hospital stores, which was an immense thing

while at the front. I don't mean the sick rations of rice, soup, etc.,

but the good, nourishing things that are always reserved for the poor

sick fellows. We got plenty of tea and rice, to be sure--so much,

indeed, that I have soured on it ever since, and never take tea except

when I am so sick that I can't bear the smell of coffee. As for rice, I

am fond of it. As the Colonel said, "I like rice very much indeed, if it

is properly cooked--that is, about a quart of cream and milk, a pound of

butter, and some eggs and sugar and nutmeg and all the other things,

nicely stirred up and baked--and, oh, yes, I forgot--about a half

teaspoonful of rice may be added."

The Steward's name was Fulton--Johnny Fulton--formerly of Fahnestock's

great drug house in Pittsburgh.

It became the duty of the Surgeons to inspect the boxes before they

would admit their contents into the hospitals, because, you know, they

often contained articles of food prepared and sent by kind friends at

home that might have been as fatal to the sick soldiers, if they had

been allowed to eat them, as would have been the Rebel bullets. For

instance, all sweet cakes, raisins, nuts, apples and other fruits were

sure death for those troubled with the great army epidemic--dysentery.

Pickles, as well as the innumerable sorts of canned stuffs, became

confiscated, as too dangerous to let pass, so that we had to eat them up

in self-defense.

There was scarcely ever a box opened that did not contain a bottle of

something contraband--some old whisky. These the Surgeons usually took

care of.

I know that some of the boys even now will be ready to swear at the

headquarters' "dog-robber." I've been called that so often, and become

so accustomed to it, and "loblolly boy," that it had no effect. We went

straight along, having as good a time as we could, wore the best clothes

and rode fast horses, and when we were not doing anything else on

Sundays, we would be out somewhere horse-racing.

There were, of course, some disagreeable things about headquarters too,

and we of the Regulars had a standing fight with a lot of fancy boys who

came down from Philadelphia that year. They were Rush's Lancers. As some

of the Western soldiers have never seen this sort of a soldier, I shall

describe him as a Zoo-zoo on a horse--that is, he wore a fancy Zouave

uniform of many colors, and carried a pole about fifteen or twenty feet

long in a socket in his stirrup. On the end of the pole was a sharp

spear or lance, and a few inches from the end of the lance a little red

silk flag fluttered. They were an awfully nice-looking set of fellows on

parade. A thousand of them made about as dashing a show as can be

imagined when galloping along in line or column.

It was expected that these long poles, with the sharp spears on the

ends, would be just the thing to charge on an enemy.

I have often heard the owners explain just how they were going to do it

when they should get a chance at the enemy. The custom or style had been

imported from Europe, but somehow it didn't take well in the Army of the

Potomac. The boys called them "turkey-drivers," probably because of the

red patch on the end of the pole.

For a time they were at headquarters as a brilliant, fancy-looking

attachment to the Staff; but every time we would go out with the

"turkey-drivers" the "doboys," or infantry, would yell and gobble at

them in such a ridiculous way that they had to be suppressed. I have

heard as many as 10,000 men in the camps in the woods gobble at the

"turkey-drivers," as if it were droves of wild turkeys, every time the

lancers would ride along.

We of the Regular Cavalry at headquarters were, of course, pleased to

witness the frequent discomfiture of the "turkey-drivers," probably

because we were a little bit jealous of them, and feared, that their

bright, dashing appearance might give them a preference over us as the

headquarters' favorites.

Pretty soon they, like the Zouaves, changed their uniform to the old

blue blouse, and threw away their long sticks for the noisy saber.

Although we had some fun among ourselves at headquarters, yet about that

time--Christmas and January, 1862-63--were the dark days of the war.

Seemingly, everything had gone wrong with the Army of the Potomac.

Burnside had left some of the best blood of the long-suffering old army

on the frozen ground over the river; the hospitals were filled with the

sick and wounded, who could not safely be transported North; and, to my

intense disgust, it seemed to me that I never rode out to any place, or

made a visit to my friends in other regiments, that I did not run into

some of those professional embalmers or packers, who would be engaged at

one of their ugly jobs. The weather was cold, and these men went about

their work as indifferently as we often see the dead beef and hogs

handled in market!

One of the saddest duties to which we at headquarters were subjected, at

times, was the piloting of visitors, who came down from Washington with

passes and reported first at headquarters, to the regimental or brigade

hospitals, in which their wounded or sick were to be found. Generally

the visitor would be an old father, perhaps a farmer, sent by the mother

to take home a sick or may be a dead son.

CHAPTER XXIX.

LIFE AT HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF POTOMAC--SOME STARTLING REVELATIONS AS TO

THE "TRUE INWARDNESS," NOT TO SAY CUSSEDNESS, OF OUR HIGH UNION

OFFICIALS--INTERESTING DESCRIPTIONS OF FAMILY LIFE AT

HEADQUARTERS--"SIGNALS"--CIPHERS--AGAIN VOLUNTEERING FOR SECRET SERVICE

INSIDE THE REBEL ARMY--A REMARKABLE STATEMENT ABOUT BURNSIDE AND

HOOKER--INTRODUCTION TO GENERAL MEADE--A NIGHT AT RAPPAHANNOCK

INTERVIEWING REBEL PICKETS.

We were encamped on the side of the hill on the top of which was the

large mansion house then occupied by Burnside and Staff. My memory is

not reliable as to names, but I think it was called the Phillips House;

anyway, it was a fine, large house, with all the usual surroundings of a

Virginia mansion of the days. There were negro quarters, smoke-house,

ice-house, stables, etc. These were filled up with the innumerable crowd

that are always about headquarters. Our command was in camp in Sibley

tents on the hill-side or in the orchard, almost within call of the

house. It was my daily habit, when not otherwise engaged (and I had the

liberty of the camp), to loaf around the porch of this house. Some way

there seemed to be a strange fascination in the general officer's

appearance, and I took great delight in watching his every movement and

in listening to the talk of the big officers on the Staff.

There was always something going on at headquarters. Either General

Franklin, or the old, almost feeble-looking, but grand E. V. Sumner, or

Couch, would be there as visitors, and before they would leave probably

other corps commanders in the uniform of Major-Generals, with swords,

and followed by their Staffs, would dash up to the fence, dismount, and

strut in, with swords rattling on the frozen ground and reverberating in

the big hallway.

I saw Burnside every day, and several times a day. Whatever may be the

judgment as to his generalship, there can be but one opinion as to his

handsome appearance and his courteous manner. I became a personal

Orderly to the General, and bear my cheerful testimony that he was

always courteous and kind, and most tenderhearted and thoughtful of the

welfare of the boys in the ranks.

It was my privilege to have seen him frequently when alone during the

dark, dreary days that followed his terrible disaster. I have often

since thought that his mind became affected by his great trouble. He

would do some of the queerest things; as, for instance, one evening he

came out into the back part of the house, where I happened to be at the

time, in company with a chum, there being no one else near. He, in his

bare head, coolly walked up to us. We, of course, jumped to our feet,

saluted and properly stood at attention, expecting that he would pass

on, but, instead, he stopped, and, with a peculiar little laugh, said,

in words that I do not now recollect, but, in effect, it was: "Tell them

it's all right." Then, as if suddenly recovering consciousness, probably

at our stupidity in staring at him, he turned abruptly away, saying,

hurriedly: "Never mind, never mind."

My companion, being older and more experienced than I, probably felt it

his duty to whisper to me, as he touched my arm: "Come; don't stare so.

Don't you see the 'old man' is full?"

I believed at the time, and for a long time after, that my companion was

right, but, in the light of subsequent events, and coupled with some

other singular things that it was my privilege to witness in the few

days that followed, I am reluctantly inclined to believe that General

Burnside was crazed by his defeat, and that he had not recovered the

possession of his faculties when he planned the "Mud Campaign."

But, to better explain my reasons for entertaining this view, I will

explain that, a day or two after this singular occurrence, when I found

an opportunity to see the General alone, I took occasion to boldly make

a proposition to him. As I put the matter in writing at the time, at his

request (for my own good, as he in such a kindly way suggested), it is

probable that the paper may be among the records.

I wanted to go over the river very, very much--that goes without saying.

As I knew Geno was in the house, the roof and one corner of which I

could see, I made almost a daily pilgrimage to the Lacey House, and sat

there on my horse by the hour, hoping and praying that it might be that

she or some of the family would recognize me.

When I made bold to personally address General Burnside, I am afraid

that I began in a rather nervous voice and manner to unfold my plan of

going into General Lee's lines again. At first he looked at me a little

incredulously, then, as he recognized me as being one of the telegraph

and signal men about his headquarters, he said: "Why, my dear boy, I

couldn't send you on such an errand as that."

But I persisted, and, to assure him further, I told him I had been there

before, and wasn't afraid to go again.

"You surprise me," said the General, genially. "Come into my room and

I'll talk it over a little."

I followed him into his room, where we found at least half a dozen

officers already gathered; indeed, there was always a crowd of them

around headquarters. While General Burnside greeted them cordially, I

stood at attention, at a respectful distance, in one corner of the room,

where I was wholly unobserved.

While waiting for the General to clear up the business with his

callers--which, by the way, seemed to me a long, long while--I heard,

among others, one little story that I do not think has ever been

printed.

Some officers were quietly discussing the recent battle; indeed, this

was a subject that would not down. It seemed as if the ghosts of the

thousands of dead soldiers who were slaughtered before Marye's Heights

and at the pontoons were haunting the memories of our Generals.

And, by the way, the boys who died doing their thankless duty at the

pontoons are almost forgotten, though they are almost as numerous as

those who charged up the heights. Well, one of the officers whom I heard

talking on the subject that day was, to my mind then, quite an

ordinary-looking man. He was a little bit stoop-shouldered; at least,

his careless, loose dress gave him that appearance, while with his muddy

boots and spectacles and generally unsoldierly bearing, he gave me the

impression that he was a Brigade Surgeon. Another of the officers,

speaking of the failure of the army, made some remark about the left not

doing its share. At this the Surgeon jerked up his head and his eyes

showed fire through his spectacles, as he said: "I want you to

understand that my division on the left broke Jackson's line in our

charge, and, if we had been sustained, the result would have been

different."

There was a good deal more of this sort of talk, pro and con, to which I

paid no attention at the time, because it seemed as if everybody that I

heard speak was explaining something or finding fault with another, and

it, of course, became tiresome. There was lots of this sort of thing

around headquarters which we on the outside overheard.

One little circumstance indelibly impressed this one man's talk on my

mind at the time. Holding up his battered, old, slouched hat, and

sticking his bony finger through a bullet-hole, in the crown, he said,

in a reply to a suggestion that "there was no enemy in front of him, as

there was at Marye's Heights"--"I found it hot enough in my front."

After he left I asked who the doctor was. The man on duty at the door

looked at me with disgust as he said: "That's no damned doctor, man;

don't you know General Meade?"

That was my introduction to the future commander of the army. And I put

it on paper here now, that Meade's Division, of the old Sixth Corps,

made a charge, at Fredericksburg, on Jackson's 30,000 men (the best

position of the Rebels, because higher and more precipitous than Marye's

Heights) that equaled that of Pickett at Gettysburg, yet we never hear

the survivors blow of it.

I had a much longer wait for my opportunity to talk with General

Burnside alone on this business than the reader has in reading this

story.

I might tell some secrets that I overheard that day, while lying about

headquarters. My ears were always as wide open as the proverbial little

pitcher's, and, besides, I had been in training so much under similar

circumstances in the Rebel country that I could scarcely help picking up

everything that dropped in my hearing or sight.

However, at last they were all gone, excepting the Adjutant-General and

his clerk; these two were busily engaged with some papers, seated at a

long dining-room table that had been drawn out for a desk. After General

Burnside gave some directions about his correspondence to the War

Department, he turned to me and, taking a chair in each hand, asked me

to sit down, and in as courteous a manner as if I were a Major-General

he began apologizing for the delay. He drew his chair right up in front

of mine, looking me straight in the eye, as he said: "Now, my young

friend, what is it that you propose?"

As briefly as I could put it I explained, what my plan was--to open

telegraph communication from the town of Fredericksburg, inside the

Rebel lines, direct with his headquarters telegraph operators. This at

the first glance may seem to be a wild, visionary scheme, but that it

was entirely feasible I soon satisfied General Burnside.

Those who were in the Army of the Potomac will remember the Signal

Telegraph Corps. I do not mean the Military or Morse Corps, but the

_Signal_ Telegraph Corps. There were two distinct organizations doing

practically the same character of work in the Army of the Potomac. As a

natural consequence, these two army telegraph corps were in a state of

active, bitter warfare against each other all the time. The Morse

Telegraph Corps was a civilian or non-military affair under Mr. Eckert,

who was located at the War Office. Through this fact, and the sinister

influence of these jealous Washington telegraphers, they were successful

in securing Mr. Stanton's hostility to the Army Signal Telegraph Corps.

Every old army man will remember the signal telegraph lines that were

constructed, as if by magic, on the little ten-foot poles, which were

stretched along the roads like miniature telegraphs, always taking the

shortest cuts through the camps.

I presume that every Corps Headquarters was in immediate telegraphic

connection with the General Headquarters, and that the little poles and

gum-insulated wire extended to all the important outposts. This

telegraph line was used in connection with the flag-and-torch system.

For instance, from some elevated position on the outskirts of our lines,

probably a tree-top or a distant hill, always overlooking the enemy's

country (which was just over the river), would be located a signal

station. Here would be found a signal officer and his squad of trained

flag swingers. Those stations were equipped with the very best

field-glasses and telescopes that were obtainable in this country and in

Europe.

The telescope, being the larger glass, would always be found supported

on a platform or tripod, and usually leveled so as to sweep the enemy's

country. Each of these stations covered a designated field, equal in

extent to five or ten miles. A number of these stations were arranged

so that the entire front, as well as the rear, if possible, and both

flanks of the enemy, were being minutely inspected every hour of the

day, and any unusual movement of men or teams were at once noted and

immediately reported to headquarters.

The telegraph lines were generally used while in permanent camps to

convey these reports back from the front. But in case of their being

disarranged or on the march, when telegraphs could not be operated, the

flag-and-torch system was used.

Those who have seen these temporary wires will remember that they were

apparently about the thickness of a lead-pencil, but an examination

would show that a gum or rubber casing inclosed a very thin copper wire.

For purpose of insulation the best quality of rubber was used, while the

wire was of the purest copper. It was made in Europe to order, and, as

it was expected that the wires would receive some pretty hard usage,

great care was taken in its manipulation.

The wire, though as thick as a pencil, was as flexible as a piece of

rope of the same thickness. It could be looped, tied and twisted into

any sort of shape in the roughest, shortest manner, and be undone

without damaging it. It will be understood without further explanation

from me, that the purpose in having this army signal wire made in this

way was to secure perfect insulation for the electric current. It was

expected that, in certain emergencies, the wire could be rapidly reeled

off the hose-carriage-looking vehicle that carried it on to the ground,

even during a battle, and signal communication kept up through it even

while it lay on the ground or in the water. A corps of men with wagons

arranged to carry cords of their little circus-tent telegraph poles

would run along after the reel, like a hook-and-ladder company, and were

drilled to rapidly pick up the wire and suspend it overhead, where it

was not liable to be injured by men or horses coming against it.

I didn't have to tell him all of this, because he already knew all about

it. The telegraph and the wire were both in his sight continually. I

merely said to him: "General, I will take some of that insulated wire,

submerge it as a cable under the Rappahannock, and go over there myself

and telegraph your headquarters every hour, if necessary, from inside

the Rebel lines."

"Why, my boy, if you were to attempt to take that wire over there, the

first use that would be made of it would be to make a rope to hang you."

"But I'm not going over there with a rope in my hands," I said. Then I

fully explained to the General, first, that I could get into

Fredericksburg in apparent safety, under pretense of being a Rebel,

because I had actually been taken away from there in arrest and confined

in Old Capitol Prison, by Mr. Stanton's orders, which fact was

well-known by some friends in the town. At this the General's mouth

opened in astonishment, and he probably began to think he was talking

with a crazy man. But, after a long talk about my former experiences and

my recent personal troubles with Mr. Stanton, which interested the

General, especially the latter, seemed to renew his interest, and he

apparently gave me his sympathy and encouragement. The poor old General

was in great trouble with the War Office just then, and probably from

this fact he was able to better appreciate my queer position. How very

insignificant and trifling my affairs became, as compared with his own

distressing, heart-breaking burden!

The General, with a deep sigh, as an expression of pain passed over his

face that I shall never forget, said:

"My dear boy, I should like to avail myself of your offer, and will

think it over; but," with hesitancy, as his brow wrinkled with something

like a frown of distrust, "I want to say to you in the way of

secret-service confidence, that the position and location of the Rebel

forces has been incorrectly reported to me by the War Department Secret

Service officials."

In this connection I can only explain this voluntary observation by the

well-known fact that, undoubtedly, Burnside was indirectly obliged by

public sentiment, expressed through Halleck and Stanton, and perhaps the

President, to make his unfortunate movement over the river, in the face

of an enemy intrenched on the almost-impregnable heights, against his

better military judgment.

Perhaps the War Department had information of the Rebel Army that would

seem to have justified the attempt. I don't pretend to know anything

more about it than I have gathered from General Burnside in the way I

have indicated.

In after years, when General Burnside became a Senator from Rhode

Island, I was employed in the Senate as telegraph operator for the

Associated Press. Major Ben. Perley Poore, the correspondent, learning

from me that I had served with the General, incidentally mentioned the

fact to him one day, and, in less time than I take to write it, the dear

old General was in my office shaking me heartily by the hand. I met him

in a business way frequently during his term, but he never talked on the

subject of the war to me, except in a general, pleasant way.

I further explained, to the apparent satisfaction of the General, that I

should submerge the wire in the river, at night, at a certain point, and

not attempt to haul it out on the Rebel shore, except under certain

contingencies, that were likely to occur, and which I could make use of

from the other shore. I had studied the subject carefully; indeed, from

my frequent visits to the river bank, I had evolved from my fertile

brain the plan to kill two birds with one stone; _i. e._, to get to see

Geno, at the risk of my neck, and while there, under the protection of

her father and friends, who would undoubtedly vouch for me as a good

Rebel, I should be able to go about unmolested, and learn the position

and, perhaps, the plans of the Rebel Army, and then trust to a fortunate

combination of circumstances to go and fish up my submerged wire and tap

my important news to headquarters. Any telegrapher will see that this

could easily have been done by the use of the little instrument, that

could be concealed between the empty lids of a big watch-case. The

current, or battery, was to be supplied from the other end, and all that

I had to do to secure attention, or notify the operators at Burnside's

headquarters that somebody was at the other end of their wire, was to

merely lift the exposed end off the ground or out of the water. I can't

explain all this, but that is the fact easily substantiated. The only

difficulty about the plan was in getting hold of this end of the wire

without detection. This was a very serious trouble; but, as I have said,

I had carefully studied the thing out, and thought it over night and

day.

I will admit, for the sake of argument, that my thoughts and plans were

stimulated by the hope of getting over to see Geno. In my frequent rides

along the river banks in search of a good landing for my cable, I had

selected a point on the other side right below the piers of the burnt

railroad bridge. Those who have been there will remember an old mill

that was located right on the bank, the water-wheel of which seemed to

be almost on the edge of the water. From this wheel was a deep ditch, or

waste-way, for the escape of the surplus water into the river. Back of

the wheel there was, of course, the mill-race, which was quite deep and,

like a canal, sluggish. This race, as it is called, extended in a

winding way up into an unfrequented part of the town.

Now, my scheme was to watch a favorable opportunity from the Union side,

and, with the connivance of our own officers, the first dark night I

proposed taking a coil of that wire, and, under the pretense of escaping

over the river in a boat, I should, when near the Rebel shore, drop the

coil with its anchor, and make a certain signal, at which our pickets

were to fire their guns as if they had discovered me and were in hot

pursuit.

Of course the Rebel pickets would be expected to be on the alert all the

time, and, to prevent detection, I proposed suspending the coil of wire

in the water from the start, attached to a rope, which I could quickly

let go, and the coil and anchor would quietly drop out of sight to the

bottom.

Once on the other side, I would have to run the risk of being recognized

by the Rebel officers, to whom I should undoubtedly be taken at once. I

hoped that by this time I had been forgotten by my old Rebel friends.

Once safely through this gauntlet I should appeal to Captain Wells for

recognition and release as a Rebel. There would be no trouble about

that, you know.

Then, after looking the ground over, I could, at my leisure, go fishing

for my coil of wire, and extend it up the mill-race either into the

deserted old mill or beyond, out of the range of the pickets, and

astonish the boys at Burnside's headquarters by signaling to them from

the other shore. There was nothing about this plan impracticable, and

General Burnside was so favorably impressed with my scheme that he heard

me through with an apparently deep interest, and even suggested some

changes in my project.

It did not occur to me at the time, though I learned subsequently, that

one of the reasons which induced General Burnside to delay the

consideration of my proposition was (very properly) to enable him to

make some inquiries of my immediate officers about my past experience

and supposed fitness for secret service among the Rebels. I was quietly

informed of this by a friend at court.

The result of this investigation must have been satisfactory to the

General. He sent after me one evening, so late that the messenger had

considerable difficulty in finding me, because I was wrapped up over

head and ears in my army blanket for a nightgown, so sound asleep that I

did not hear my name called.

As all of us were lying around loose in that shape, looking like mummies

of the same age, he took the very great risk of resuscitating the wrong

one, when the Orderly gave notice that "The General is waiting for that

Telegraft Signal fellow to report."

Everybody within hearing at once took a part in the search, and I was

rooted out of my snug corner by the order to "Git out of here damned

sudden; you're wanted at headquarters." This sort of a summons aroused

the curiosity of every old soldier that happened to be around, and

that's saying a good deal.

It's only those who have lived among the old soldiers (I mean those

regular chaps who have been in the service twenty or thirty years) that

can understand fully what is meant by exciting their curiosity with an

order for a comrade to report to headquarters.

They looked upon me with various expressions of pity, contempt, envy and

wonder. The general impression was that I was getting into some kind of

trouble, and one comrade sympathetically whispered words of cheer and

comfort; another bade me "Good-by," etc.

Being only an enlisted man, I was quartered with the "non-coms" around

headquarters, my immediate chum being the Hospital Steward.

As soon as I was wide enough awake to realize the situation and

understand the summons, I knew well enough what it meant, but feigned

wonder and surprise, and, hastily dressing myself, rushed through the

dark yard to the house before any one could question me.

There were the usual sentries around headquarters, but my man got

through them quickly, and we entered the house through the big hallway.

There was but one light burning there, as every one of the numerous

Staff had gone off to sleep. The Orderly gently knocked at the door as

if he were afraid some one might hear. A quiet voice said, "Come"; the

Orderly opened the door, put on his "Regular" face, jerked himself in

sideways, stiffened up, saluted, and reported that he had "fetched the

man he was ordered to."

"All right; 'fetch' him a little more, Sergeant, till I see him," were

the exact words the General uttered in reply, in his pleasant way.

Without waiting for any further introduction from my escort, I brushed

my bangs down, wiped off my chin, and stepped inside of the door,

saluting the General according to the regulations. The General dismissed

the Orderly with a pleasant "Ah, here he is; that will do Orderly."

Turning to me, with the pen he pointed to a chair, saying: "I wanted to

see you, and it seems as if the only opportunity I have is after

everybody else has left me. Take a seat till I finish this note."

After expressing my readiness to wait upon him at any hour, I sat down

as directed, and for the time being I was alone with the

Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Potomac.

If I were permitted to live a thousand years, that lapse of time would

not efface from my memory the impressions that this singular midnight

interview with General Burnside has left upon my mind.

Previous to my reporting, the General had probably been engaged with his

private correspondence, and was at that moment very intent in an awkward

effort at steering his pen over a sheet of paper. The General, like all

other great soldiers, was a poor penman. It made me nervous watching him

scratch over the paper, so that I felt like volunteering my services as

an amanuensis to help him out of his labor, though I am a poor penman

myself--which, by the way, is the only claim that I have for comparison

with great men.

Almost everybody is familiar with the broad, honest, generous face of

Burnside, with his English side-whiskers--"Burnsides"; but, like most

pictures, it fails entirely to show him with his face lighted up by his

happy, encouraging smile.

Though there were upward of a hundred thousand soldiers sleeping on that

cold, inhospitable ground in this darkness, all was as quiet in the Army

of the Potomac along the Rappahannock at that hour as if it were a great

national cemetery containing a hundred thousand quiet graves. As I sat

there and watched the General's features as he continued to write, the

thought occurred to my mind that this one man could, by a word, call

into active life every one of those around, not only on this, but on the

other side of the river.

Right over the little Rappahannock River, on every one of the hills that

were in the background, we knew well enough was another sleeping army;

but their dreary winter camps were enlivened somewhat by their hundreds

of cheerful camp-fires, the light from which seemed to flicker in our

faces a happy sort of defiance at our wretched darkness. All along the

river front, almost within gunshot of our headquarters, was stretched a

line of camp-fires at such regular intervals that the scene resembled

the lights of lamps on a long, winding street. They were allowed

camp-fires on their picket-lines. We were prohibited from lighting a

match at the front.

After the General had finished his task of writing and sealing the note,

he rose from his chair, threw up both arms, as if to stretch himself out

of a cramp, as he walked toward me, saying, abruptly: "It seems to me,

young man, that you are in a position that will enable you to do us

great service."

When I made a move to get on my feet to assume the soldier's first

position of attention, the General motioned me back into my chair, with

a command to: "Sit still; I want to stretch my legs a little while I

talk this matter over," and he halted in front of me as he put the

question: "Do you think you can get to the other side in safety to

yourself?"

I assured him that I had no doubt of that whatever, and went on to

explain that my recent relations with the people there would serve to

protect me, but that I must not go in the uniform of a Federal soldier.

"Are you sure that your friends over there have not heard of your being

in the army?"

I thought not--indeed, I was sure they had not--as some of my best

friends in the North were not aware of the step, because I had not

joined with any of the State troops, but had united with the Regulars,

where I had become lost, as it were, among strangers.

During this examination I had assumed that, as a matter of course, my

proposition to submerge the cable was in the General's mind. I had spent

some time and considerable labor in the interval in carefully preparing

a section of the soft rubber or insulated wire for this use. Sufficient

length had been carefully selected and tested with the electrical

batteries, and then I had put the whole Quartermaster's Department in a

stew by a requisition, approved by headquarters, for some linseed oil,

which was something that was not in the regulation list. I wanted to use

the oil as additional coating to the rubber, as a better protection in

the water. After much red-tape business, I got some oil, and put my coil

of selected wire into the barrel for a good soaking.

When I began to tell the General about this additional security, he

interrupted me: "Oh, never mind about that now. I fully appreciate your

ingenuity, and believe that some such plan might become practicable

hereafter, but (with an impressiveness that I shall never forget) we

know pretty well the extent and disposition of the enemy's forces over

there."

With a deep sigh he hesitated a moment, as if recalling his recent

battle, that had so terribly demonstrated this fact.

"The Government was deceived to a great extent by Scouts; what I now

desire is to deceive the Rebels."

I didn't "catch on," which the General probably discovered by his intent

look into my eye.

"We must deceive them the next time; and if you are willing to take the

risk on yourself of going into their lines, you can no doubt aid us very

much better than by taking the wire along with you."

I expressed so decided a willingness to do anything, that the General

smilingly said: "I see that you will do; and, as you have explained, it

will be no great risk to you personally, I am satisfied to have you make

the attempt." After a few more words of friendly caution, the General

said, finally: "It will be better that you should make the crossing

either above or below, and come up into the city. A few signals may be

arranged beforehand with some of the Signal officers, which you can, no

doubt, perfect yourself better than I."

I assured him that this could be easily done, and with a word or two

more of caution and a suggestion to arrange my signals, and when I was

ready to go to report to him, the General bade me "Good-night."

I left General Burnside's office that night without any very clear

understanding of what he wanted me to do. I was only sure that I was

expected to go over into the town for a purpose which he had not yet

explained. This was sufficient for me. I went off in the dark to find

my blanket, my head swimming with delight at the prospect of personally

serving the General of the Army and the Government in a way that would

at once secure advancement for me; but, best of all, I should at the

same time be able to see Geno; and perhaps the fortune of war would be

so altered by another move as to enable me to escort her and the Wells

family away from the ill-fated old town.

But I shall leave the romantic portion--the love story--out of this

narrative of fact. Perhaps some person better able than myself may in

the future weave a romance from these plain statements of facts that I

have somewhat reluctantly been putting down from time to time, in the

midst of the bustle and confusion of my later-day work of a newspaper

correspondent at Washington, yet scouting around among Rebels for news.

I found my blanket undisturbed during my absence. It had served as a

sort of claim to that part of the floor in the large room over which

were scattered a half-dozen sleeping men. One of the boys was wide

enough awake to begin questioning me in regard to the nature of my

business with the "old man"--the General was always the "old man," you

know. In anticipation of this, and remembering a word of caution from

the General, I had fixed up in my own mind a plan to put them on the

wrong track. I explained--very confidentially, of course, knowing very

well that it would get out the better and be believed if in that

form--that I was to be questioned about the material necessary to build

a telegraph line up to Washington on our side of the river.

It will be remembered that there was no direct communication with

Washington by land from the army at Fredericksburg. Ostensibly, the

Union forces occupied that portion of the territory, but, practically,

the Rebel residenters, bushwhackers and guerrillas, assisted by Stuart's

cavalry, infested the entire region between Alexandria or Manassas and

Fredericksburg. Occasionally our cavalry were up in that region about

some of the upper fords of the Rappahannock, but it was to all intents

and purposes the enemy's country.

It was expected that I would convey some false or misleading information

as coming from our forces to the Rebel officers. In a word, I was to

become a decoy-duck.

While lying there all alone thinking this over carefully, and the

exuberance of my feelings over a personal and pleasant interview with

the General had subsided, I began to realize the dangerous position in

which I might be placed.

The character of the decoy messages, and the manner of conveying them,

the General had discreetly kept from me until the time for action. I was

satisfied that I could easily get through to the Rebel headquarters and

perhaps see General Lee personally. My "sympathizer"--Old Capitol

story--would, no doubt, take well, especially in Fredericksburg.

The first danger that I should encounter would be a chance recognition

of my "former services," but this was only equal to about one in a

thousand. The only matter that I feared at all was going into the Rebel

headquarters as the bearer of any important papers; they might,

notwithstanding my friends in Fredericksburg, become suspicious and,

perhaps, be induced to keep a watch over me as a sort of hostage for

their fulfillment. If the intelligence I had taken to them had misled

and caused disaster to their army, I would have to suffer.

The only way to circumvent this was to get out of the way before it was

too late. Geno was over on that side, and the prospect of once more

seeing her settled in my young impulsive heart the question. I

determined that I would go, and go, too, as soon as possible; and with

this thought fixed in my mind, I at last went off into a sound sleep, to

dream of the happy hour when I should again take her hand in mine and

tell her of the difficulties and the dangers I had met and so

persistently overcome, that I might once more enjoy the happiness of

being near her.

All the different headquarters were in direct communication with each

other and the General Headquarters, as well as the Signal Station, from

their points of observation, by means of this wire signal telegraph,

which I have described.

This field telegraph was operated on the "induction" principle, which is

the basis of the telephone patent. In the field telegraph, instead of

vibrations, the induced current causes the deflection of a sensitive

needle, which noisily points to letters of the alphabet on a dial

synchronously with the transmitting apparatus.

Compared with the Morse system, it was a little tedious, and, at times,

as uncertain as a telephone. It had the advantage, however, of

simplicity. We called these "coffee-mill telegraphs." Since the war the

"coffee-mill," or English system, has been greatly improved--the same

principle operating the Atlantic cables. Instead of a needle revolving

on the face of a dial, it is made by a wave of electricity, to simply

dip or deflect, as desired, either to the right or the left of a zero

point.

In this way the two simplest of all known characters are formed;

_i. e._, the "dot" and the "dash" of the American Morse system.

This principle has an important bearing, not only in the action of this

narrative, but it is the basis of a system of signals first applied to

use in war by myself, as developing the practicability of signaling from

even the inside of an enemy's line into headquarters of his opponent.

Since our war developed its uses, it has been adopted by nearly all the

Governments of the earth.

It was designed by myself that, instead of being burdened by the attempt

to lay a cable under the water and concealed in the earth, through which

it was hoped to signal, that I should go over to Fredericksburg and,

once safely in Geno's home, I could, by visual signals, communicate

directly with an accomplished signal officer to be located at the Lacey

House.

This was entirely practicable. Captain Wells' house was barely

discernable from the Lacey House. I was to take a position at a certain

window in the Wells' House and, when alone, signal directly over the

water and through the air to a window in the Lacey House, by the simple

use of this dot and dash system.

Those who have seen the signal-flags and torches will remember that

there were but two simple motions, one to the left and the other to the

right of a perpendicular--the stroke down, or in front, merely signifies

a stop--the dot (or No. 2) is represented by a quick motion _to the

right_; a dash (or No. 1) by a motion to the left of a sender.

At the end of each word, abbreviation, conventional or prearranged

signal, a "front" motion is made.

I put in the cold days and long nights in studying up signals and in

arranging with my "pard" for their exchange. He entered heartily into

the scheme, believing, as we all did, that I, of all others, was just

the person to undertake the business, because I would be recognized as a

Rebel in that town.

From an up-stairs window of the Lacey House we discovered that two

windows of Captain Wells' house were plainly visible. There was also a

single "dormer" window in the roof, which the bombardment had seriously

damaged.

These up-stairs windows were visible over the top of another house that

stood between it and the river.

There was no other point on our side of the river from which signals

could be quietly made that would not attract the attention of the

watchful Rebels. Even from an obscure window of the Lacey House we

feared it would be risky to attempt any demonstration in the way of

signals. It was on this account settled upon that very few, if any,

signals should be made to me.

There would be only some common recognition of my presence. We arranged

that when one shutter of the Lacey House window was open it would

signify to me in the Rebel lines that my man had his telescope leveled

at my window, of which I was to open one shutter to signify my presence

in that room.

Now, the telescopes used in the United States Signal Service were of the

very best character. It will seem to many to be an exaggerated statement

when I assert that I have distinctly and clearly read flag-signals a

distance of twenty-five miles, and these at the rate of fifteen to

twenty words a minute, too. At night torch-signals may be distinctly

read by this method. It is only necessary that the exact point or

bearings of the distant signal station be known. For this purpose a

first-class pocket compass was furnished each signal officer.

In this case it was not necessary to see the compass to find the window,

but we located with the telescope and compass certain other points miles

to the rear of Marye's Heights and the Rebel Army, which I was to find

in case the window was not available.

The window was altogether the best point, provided I could get use of

it, because I could sit back in the shadow, and out of view of any

person outside, and be seen by the use of the telescope, especially at

night.

With my hand, or with a wand or a fan, I was supposed to seat myself in

that room, my feet cocked up on a window-sill, smoking a cigar and

nonchalantly signal or spell out this one-two alphabet by the waves of a

fan. The objection to that was that it was wintertime, and fans were

not necessary, but it was generally understood that I was to use

anything that happened to suit best, and to change as often as

possible--merely to show a right and left motion was all that was

necessary.

Circumstances may arise in the future in which some such conditions may

be availed of, as they were in our war on more than one occasion.

Exactly what I was to telegraph back did not occur to me. In fact

General Burnside did not seem to attach very much importance to this

part of the plan, which was more attractive to my own and my chum's mind

than his decoy matter.

It was my intention to travel at will, through my Rebel friends in the

town, and, if possible, get into the lines even to General Lee's

headquarters, and hear their telegraph instruments, and if anything

important was learned I should at once "open my half-shutter" and watch

for the open half-shutter in the Lacey House. When they were ready to

"receive" both shutters were to be opened, and as long as both remained

opened they were "getting me down" in black and white. In case of the

loss of a signal or a word, an attempt would be made to close one

shutter, when I would see that I was to stop until signaled to "go

ahead" by the opening of both shutters again.

It is not to be understood that it was expected of me to "spell out," by

this motion system, every word that I might want to communicate over the

river. There is scarcely a word in general use that was not abbreviated

by the phonetic spelling and pronunciation, so that every message became

a blind cipher, excepting to those who understood the phonetic system.

For instance, the long word "communicate," which I have just used here,

is reduced to two simple letters, as follows:

Communicate km. Communication kmn.

Communicating kmg. Communicated kmd.

The suffixes ing, ed, tion and ty to this word, and wherever they occur,

were shortened by the use of the letters g, d, n, and y, respectively. I

can "communicate" with a flag in shorthand as rapidly and as correctly

at a distance of twenty miles as our official reporters will at twenty

feet, and if the weather does not permit the use of flags, a battery of

guns can be made to "km" as far as they can be heard, in a storm or in

the dark.

For my own especial purpose, we had arranged a few additional signals by

which I was to quickly "km" with headquarters. For instance, the

important information that I had been successful in spreading the false

information was to be known by a continuous repetition of the signals

"sk, sk, sk," signifying successful.

I felt that I could with perfect safety to myself stand on the bank of

the river, and, while apparently using my handkerchief in an ordinary

way, make these two simple signs so that it would be readily understood.

If I signaled re-rd, it meant General Lee was in Richmond; or Lt. was

not Lieutenant, as would be supposed by any signal officer, but meant

Longstreet; while a simple X was for Stonewall Jackson. Enh was

"enough."

Before everything was in readiness, I was looking for an opportunity to

see General Burnside and tell him of the character of our arrangements.

I was disappointed in not seeing him for a couple of days; my

recollection is that he was in Washington. Any way, I felt at the time

that he was not as much interested in the matter as I had supposed he

would be.

Finally, I succeeded in seeing the General, but not alone; indeed, he

was seldom, if ever, without some sort of company. When he stopped his

conversation long enough to hear me, he simply said, in his polite,

kindly way: "Well, you come in and see me again, won't you?"

Of course that settled it for that interview, and I had to go off

disappointed. I watched for the next opportunity, and when I sent a

little note to his room to say that I was ready, he surprised me by

sending out to see me one of his Staff officers, who, holding my note in

his open hand, came up to me and began to explain that the General had

directed him to see me, etc.

This officer said, very kindly: "The General has informed me of your

proposed service, and has directed me to afford you every facility

possible. What can I do for you? He is very much occupied just now."

That was very kind, but it was not exactly satisfactory, as I wanted to

talk to the General; however, I told this officer I wanted to cross the

river below the town, under the guise of a deserter, and, once over, to

act as I should find best. He heard of my proposed signaling with

amazement, and after explaining his grave doubts about the safety of

such an undertaking, he told me, with a significant confidence for such

a short acquaintance: "The army is to move in a few days right over into

the town precisely as we did before. The General, you know, is

determined to make a success of his former plan, but he especially

desires that the Rebels should be led to believe that he proposed to

cross below. Therefore, he directed me to say that the only directions

he had were that the enemy should be made to believe this, and directed

me to confer with you as to the best method of accomplishing this

result."

He went on further to detail a plan of crossing the army at a place

called Hoop-pole Ferry, and said they would make a demonstration in that

direction, but they would cross into the town again.

It never once occurred to my innocent heart that this smooth-talking

Yankee officer was lying to me. They did not intend to cross at the

town, and he knew it. At this very time General Burnside was planning

his campaign to cross above the town some distance, at Banks or United

States Fords, and he was only prevented from doing so by the

"stick-in-the-mud."

In stating so positively that he intended to redeem the army and "lead

his own Ninth Corps" up that hill, right through town as before, he

purposely and, perhaps, wisely deceived me, and I was in turn to further

deceive, or attempt to deceive the Rebels by making them think he was to

cross twenty miles below.

After I had gotten under my blanket, the night following the interview

with General Burnside's Staff-officer, I instinctively felt it was my

last peaceful sleep under the protection of the old flag.

It was then, when alone with myself, that I calmly and dispassionately

thought over the entire matter.

I will admit that I was a little bit cowardly when the time neared for

working this case in the dark. I am not afraid, however, to put myself

down here in cold type as being afraid of the Rebels. I may be permitted

to say, that no one soldier, in all that army, carried a greater risk

than myself in being there.

It will be understood the prime motive with me was a longing desire to

see Geno. For her dear sake I was willing to risk my life, knowing, if I

were successful, I should win promotion and Geno at the same time.

I recalled, with feelings of intense gratification, the Staff-officer's

words: "We shall cross into the town again as we did before."

It occurred to my dull comprehension that if this were to be so what

would be the use in my taking any risk on myself to find Geno, by going

over into the hands of the enemy, in advance of the army.

I reasoned very clearly, the more I thought over it, that it would be

decidedly safer, and in every way better to answer my purpose, to ride a

horse over the pontoons under the protection of our cannon than to go

over alone only a day or two in advance.

General Burnside's Staff-officer, in thus lying to me about the

crossing, unintentionally over-reached himself. But I had said to the

General that I would go, and all the preparations had been made to

signal. I could not, therefore, decently back down on my own proposal.

I was a coward both ways--afraid to go and afraid not to go.

I concluded, by way of compromise, to do as a great many of our Generals

have done, who were also afraid sometimes--I would procrastinate, in

hopes the army would move before I did--I would also make a

"demonstration" below town, but hope to get into town by the convenient

method of the pontoons.

The scene of this adventure is, of course, along the Rappahannock, the

season that of the dreadful winter of 1862-3, on Stafford Heights, once

the farm of Mrs. Washington, the mother of the Father of his Country.

The scenery was changing, like that on the stage, from the "snowy shroud

that winter weaves around the dying year" to the more disagreeable mud

that Virginia alone can supply, and that so effectively tied up

everything that does not go on wings. In addition to the innumerable

enemies in the front, in the rear, and on the flanks, that the old Army

of the Potomac had to contend with, one of the most obstinate was the

mud.

It was arranged that I should be quietly furnished with the facilities

to enable me to "desert" over the river. All these arrangements were

practically in my own hands. Everything that I desired was cheerfully

afforded me.

During two of the coldest, most disagreeable days and nights of that

memorable winter, I bivouacked with our cavalry outposts, located on the

river bank some distance below the town.

I was there for the purpose of watching a favorable opportunity to

desert to the other side.

That I did not go, was not to be charged to a lack of facilities. I was

not in a hurry; in fact, I was hoping against hope that the whole army

would move. I, at last, concluded that I should have to make a

demonstration to satisfy my friends, with whom I had talked it over.

The weather was so terribly cold and rough along that river bottom that,

after a few days' experience, I felt it would be a relief to get over

the river, alongside of the snug camp-fires of the Rebels, which seemed

to beckon me over, as an _ignis fatuus_. The Confederates were allowed

camp-fires all along their picket-lines. We were not even permitted to

light a match.

The Rappahannock, at the point patrolled by our cavalry, was narrow and

deep, the banks on either side being abrupt and covered in most places

by a close undergrowth of willow. Directly opposite, and within speaking

distance, were the Rebel pickets. Their outpost camp-fires were in a

little grove of saplings, so close to the bank that, from our side, we

could see their every movement at night by the light of their fires, and

could count the number of men laying about on the ground. We imagined

that we could hear their snores, so close were they. It seemed as if we

were on guard over them.

When their fires would burn low, one of the number would crawl from

under his blanket, stir up the embers, put on some more wood, and again

lie down to sleep in perfect security. There was no firing on

picket-lines at that time.

During the daytime there would frequently be a general exchange of

agreeable, but sometimes sharp, words between the pickets.

On our side there was a general order prohibiting this communication,

but, when the officers were not around, we talked more freely with the

Rebels than we would have dared with the sentry on the beat adjoining

our own.

It was only necessary to call "Johnny!" to get a quick "Hello," or if

Johnny called first it was "Hello, Yank."

But little, if any, reliable information passes through the lines in

this way. The pickets out on the line, as a rule, know less about their

own army than anyone else. Of course a stranger, or even a soldier

unknown to the officers, is not permitted on the line.

[Illustration: CAVALRY PICKET ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK.]

What I am relating is an actual experience from real life in the picket

lines.

These incidents resulted in bringing about some remarkable developments

that, in the days and months and years that followed, produced a sadly

sweet influence on the lives, not only of myself, but upon that of some

famous Confederate officers and the family of Captain Wells; but to tell

the story of the "other side," at this time, is to be left for a future

occasion. This is to be a straight narrative of one experience.

Picture to yourselves a stormy, snowy night. The men of the relief to

which I had been temporarily attached, who were to be called, could not

be found, because the snow had actually covered them out of sight.

Soldiers who lay down on the ground to sleep during a snow storm wrap

themselves entirely with the blankets, which the snow soon covers.

Strange as it may seem, we slept more comfortably and warmly when thus

shrouded under the snow.

The night I had selected to cross to the enemy was of this kind. In the

early part, I had slept sweetly under this white blanket of snow, and,

when called up to take my position, I felt loth to stir, with such first

thoughts, perhaps, as a criminal who is awakened from sound sleep on the

morning of his execution.

At that time, in addition to two heavy flannel shirts and drawers, we

usually wore two complete suits of fatigue uniform, one right over the

other. The boots were large, and came high. Over the leather we learned,

in very cold weather, to draw an old woolen sock. If the reader has

never tried this, he will be surprised to see how much warmth even an

additional cotton sock adds when drawn over the outside of a boot. It is

equal to three pairs inside.

We also discovered that the placing of an old newspaper between blankets

increased their warmth doubly without adding to the weight.

It will be seen from this description, or attempt at one, that a Union

cavalryman on picket on a winter night, on the Rappahannock, resembled,

as he sat on his horse, something that has not yet been pictured in any

war-book that I have ever seen! Of course, under all this bundle of

blankets and ponchos he carried across his knee his carbine, or perhaps

it was "slung."

As a general thing, if the night was very cold, the poor picket allowed

his heavily-loaded feet to hang out of the stirrups, because it assisted

the circulation and kept the feet warmer than when resting in the

stirrup.

Determined that I should settle the question that night, at a favorable

opportunity I called, in a voice that I fear was somewhat tremulous,

"Hello, Johnny!"

Not getting any reply, I waited a few moments, watching intently every

movement around the fire in the little grove. Presently one tall fellow,

with whiskers all over his face, whom I took to be an officer, called

gruffly to one of the sleeping Rebels, as if directing his attention to

the picket-line. There were a few words or growls in a sleepy tone, and

all became quiet. Fearing that they would all go off to sleep again, I

called out loudly, "Come down to the river a minute."

At this the officer got up, stared into the darkness over his fire as if

the voice had come from a ghost in the tree-tops. Again I called: "Come

over a minute; I want to give you some dry coffee."

This stirred up the officer, whose pleased smile I could see by the

fire-light.

"Hello! is that you, Yank?" Then, urging the sleeper to get out, the two

had some sharp words, which I didn't hear.

It was only a few moments before both strode away from the fire-light in

the direction of the river. At the time I was so nervous that I thought

it an hour's delay.

Our officer was conveniently absent at the time, and while I knew that I

would not be molested, except as a feint, I still felt that for effect I

must go quietly about this, and this feeling served to make me act the

part nervously.

There was a flat-boat or raft tied on the other side. This little,

square, coffin-shaped craft had been manufactured by some Georgia

soldiers. The sides were straight up and down and the bottom flat. A

good name for the thing is "a boy drowner"; that's what they call them

on the river where I learned to swim. To navigate this concern, a rope

had been stretched over the river and anchored at each side, the rope

sinking under the water. That rope was there permanently, just in such

shape as I had proposed to lay a cable. Our officers only knew in a

general way of its existence from the fact that the little boat was

drawn or ferried almost every night by means of it.

When the two Rebels that I had roused from sleep had gotten close enough

and began to feel along the shore ice for the boat, which was always

kept on their side, I excited them to greater exertion by saying in a

whisper, intended to be confidential, but which was heard easily over

the river: "I've got a canteen of commissary here I will sell or trade."

Whisky has its uses. It enters into almost every conspiracy in some

shape or other; in this case it was only to be applied as a sort of

taffy. The officer called back eagerly: "All right; we'll make some kind

of a dicker."

The boat was scarcely safe for one and wouldn't carry double without

kicking over. It was built on the theory that the one passenger would

part his hair in the middle, and to get an exact balance, the "chaw" of

tobacco could be shifted to that side of the jaw that required the

weight. It would do well enough for a plaything in the summer time, but

to risk a bath in the middle of a winter night was not to be so lightly

considered.

The officer insisted on the soldier coming over. By way of persuasion I

heard him tell him that if he should get a little wet, the commissary

that Yank had would warm him up. That settled it.

He came over in less time than I had taken to tell about it, jumped

through the bushes and stood before me on the hard-frozen ground.

Nearly all of the old soldiers of the Army of the Potomac have been a

party to these little "exchange of courtesies" on the outposts, and will

understand better than I can explain just how the thing was done. For

those who have not seen the reality, I would suggest a picture. The

scene is on the Rappahannock; the background shows the heights below

Fredericksburg covered with snow. The characters in real life are the

Rebel soldier and his boat. He stood by me wrapped in a dirty butternut

blanket, in that style of drapery that only a Rebel soldier or an Apache

Indian can adapt himself to.

I have already described my bundled-up appearance, topped off with a

poncho. We were meeting at that lonely spot in the middle of a winter

night, ostensibly to trade coffee and whisky for tobacco; but in fact it

was, with me, a meeting for the purpose of hatching out a conspiracy as

important in one sense, if successful, as was that of Benedict Arnold

and Major Andre's meeting. I was there for a purpose, with the indirect

knowledge and consent of the Commander-in-Chief of the United States

Armies.

I preferred very much to talk with the officer; he would have the

authority to grant me the privileges I wanted to negotiate for, before I

should surrender my liberty.

The man in front of me was a middle-aged, unshaven, ugly-looking

specimen of a Georgian or North Carolinian Tar-heel. All he knew was to

do as his officer directed, and he was of a kind that would do that at

any cost. Whisky was the best or quickest way to reach his confidence.

The rebel and I "drank from the same canteen" on the picket-line. He did

the most of the drinking, while I only pretended to take swigs of it.

The officer on the other side couldn't see what we were doing; he became

uneasy and called out: "Don't fool 'round thar too long."

My rebel called back, "I'm a-comin' with some good stuff."

He went back to his boat, hauled out a lot of leaf-tobacco, and after

the style of the Indians trading, laid it down, saying: "It's all I got,

but there's plenty of it."

I was not making a tight bargain just then, and agreed to all his terms

so readily that probably, under the influence of the commissary, he

could scarcely find words to express his good opinion of me, etc.

I broached the subject uppermost in my mind by growling at our hard luck

in having to stand out there in the cold. His reply to this put me off

my pins entirely:

"Well, why don't you all go to your own home in your own country?"

I explained that we would like to do so, but being soldiers we had to

stay here against our will.

I then mildly suggested that we felt like going over to their side, that

we might have such comfortable fires, etc.

"A right smart of your men do come over."

"What do they do with them?"

"Oh, they are sent away down to the coast some place, where they are in

no danger of getting caught by you all."

That was one important point learned; they would send me off South if I

should go over as a deserter. I didn't intend to be sent away so far

from Geno, and I decided mighty suddenly just then that I wouldn't go

along back with him.

The Johnny started to return, when I asked him if he ever went up to the

town. He had been there, but was seemingly as dumb and indifferent as an

animal about everything but the whisky and coffee.

"I've got some friends up in town there that I'd like to send some word

to. Can't you go up there and see them for me?"

"Why, yes, I'll do anything I can to oblige you; but I'll have to ask

the Captain about that, you know."

Then I drew from my pocket a letter or note, sealed in an ordinary

envelope, addressed to Captain Wells, and confidentially whispered as I

looked around me, as if afraid some of our officers would see or hear

me: "I've a sweetheart up there, and between you and me I would like to

send her some word explaining why I am here. The fact is," I continued,

as the fellow reached his hand and took my letter, "I only came into

this Yankee army for a chance to get to see her, and if I thought I

wouldn't be sent South I'd go over now."

The fellow was then so much softened by the whisky that he tugged at my

hand to "Come right along; come on, old fellow." I only got away from

him by proposing that he see his officer about it first, and if they

could give me any assurance that I'd not be sent South I'd go over the

next night I was on duty.

Again assuring him that the letter contained nothing that I should

object to his officer seeing, he left me, ramming into his pocket the

document containing the misleading information that General Burnside's

Staff-officer had suggested that I personally convey. I had prepared the

document myself, which was in the form of a friendly letter to Captain

Wells and family, detailing my experience in the Old Capitol Prison, and

explaining that I had joined the army as the only means to get back

there; then, as if it were an ordinary bit of news, I added the decoy

information to the body of the note in these words:

"I have heard from my brother, who you know is a telegraph operator at

the War Department, that General Burnside has been ordered to cross the

river again; but next time it is to be away down the river at Hoop-pole

Ferry, so that I hope to soon be with you all once more, etc."

When the Rebel got back and had talked a while, and had probably given

the Captain a swig at the commissary, the Captain called back to me to

say, "Thank you, old fellow; much obliged to you, sir." Then, in an

undertone, "Are you all alone?"

I signified that I was, when he said: "I know those ladies very well,

and will see them myself to-morrow."

What could have been better for my purpose? It will be remembered there

were two older sisters, Miss Sue and Miss Mamie. I flattered myself with

the reflection that Geno was then too young for company--especially

Rebel company, or any other kind but me.

In this manner I was in every way as successful in accomplishing General

Burnside's purpose as if I had gone over personally; perhaps more so, as

there would be no doubt in the minds of the Wells family that I was

sincere in these statements, and they would indorse me strongly to the

Rebel officers. If the letter had been intercepted it would have

answered precisely the same purpose. The message was delivered to the

Wells family, and, no doubt, the contemplated move of General Burnside

below town was reported to the Confederate officers.

While General Grant was preparing for his Wilderness campaign, I

learned--in some way that I cannot now recollect--that Captain Wells was

a prisoner in the Old Capitol.

At the first opportunity I procured a pass from the Provost-Marshal's

Office in Washington, and, calling at the Old Capitol, asked for Captain

Wells. I was then in uniform, so that the outside attendants did not

recognize in their visitor a former prisoner.

In a little while the Captain was shown into the room. At sight of him

my heart ached. The poor old man seemed to have aged wonderfully in the

year since I had last seen him. He looked at me, but his eyes were not

so good, and, seeing my uniform, he probably supposed that I was one of

the guard, and was about turning to an attendant to ask who had called

to see him, when I spoke and reached for his hand. Then his face

brightened up as he heartily shook hands, and the first words he spoke,

in answer to some remark about our altered appearance as he looked at my

uniform, were: "We heard you were in Stoneman's cavalry."

General Stoneman was then Chief of Cavalry, and the Southern people,

after their own manner, usually named the troops after the commander.

When I asked how he had heard from me, when I could not get a word from

them, he looked up with that curious smile of his, as he said,

significantly: "We got word from a certain good friend of ours telling

us about it."

Further conversation was carried on in this guarded way, as an officer

sat in front of us and heard every word that was exchanged.

When I asked the Captain about his accommodations, and proposed sending

him some fruit and eatables from the outside, he warmly thanked me,

adding, with the same peculiar smile: "You know about what we get here,

I suppose?"

At this I had to laugh, so did the old Captain, the officer between us

looking curiously from one to the other, to try and discover what the

joke was that created such merriment.

He told me, then, something of the dreadful experiences of the family,

in Fredericksburg, during the bombardment and battles, declaring that he

should take them away from there at the first opportunity.

The interviews of visitors were limited to a certain number of minutes,

and when my time was up I had to go.

In a few days after the experience of negotiating the decoy over the

river, the Army of the Potomac did move, and a demonstration was made

precisely as I had indicated. But the history of General Burnside's

famous stick-in-the-mud march has already been so well told that I need

only to add that this was his plan. If the weather had not changed, or

the dreadful Virginia mud had not prevented, General Burnside would have

crossed above the town, and might have been successful then, and

redeemed himself.

It is now certain that General Lee would have been surprised, and have

been compelled to fight the Army of the Potomac on equal terms, outside

of fortifications, with General Burnside for a leader. General Hooker

afterward did precisely the same thing that General Burnside is so

mercilessly criticized for attempting. Hooker failed miserably, after he

was over, and when everything was in his grasp. Burnside might have

managed it better in Hooker's position.

CHAPTER XXX.

CONSPIRACIES AMONG UNION GENERALS AND NORTHERN POLITICIANS--THE DEFENSE

OF THAT UNAPPRECIATED ARMY, THE CAVALRY--HOOKER AND DEAD

CAVALRYMEN--STONEMAN'S CELEBRATED RAID TO RICHMOND TRUTHFULLY DESCRIBED,

AND ITS FAILURE TO CAPTURE RICHMOND ACCOUNTED FOR--A CHAPTER ON THE

"SECRET SERVICE" NOT REFERRED TO IN OFFICIAL REPORTS OR CURRENT WAR

HISTORY.

It is with considerable reluctance that I make this jump in my narrative

from the date of Hooker's taking command until his first active movement

at Chancellorsville. The months of February, March and nearly all of

April were spent in comparative idleness. The massive Army of the

Potomac, with its 100,000 men, were in their restful winter quarters on

Stafford Heights, opposite Fredericksburg. It is a great mistake,

however, to suppose that there was no activity at the headquarters of

that army.

We were boiled and stirred up incessantly at headquarters by the little

wars and inside conspiracies between our own general officers and

against the War Office. The secret history of some of these bickerings

would be interesting reading, by way of foot notes to the articles now

being contributed to the _Century_ and other war books by some of those

who were active participants in these traitorous schemes. I however do

not know enough of it (except from personal gossip about headquarters)

to permit my venturing upon any detailed exposition.

Sufficient is known, however, in a general way, by the survivors, who

were cognizant of the affairs at the time, to bear me out in asserting

that among other schemes there was a widespread, organized conspiracy

among certain officers to attempt a _coup d'etat_, by which McClellan

was to be made Military Dictator, in place of President Lincoln.

This may be denied again and again, but the unadulterated facts are (and

they froze so hard that winter that they will keep to the end) that

there was such a conspiracy. The correspondence on the subject with the

Copperhead politicians in the North, who were to manage that end, is

probably yet in existence. Some day, when the active participators are

dead and gone, perhaps the truth may be made known.

On the occasion of a visit to Washington during this long winter siege,

I was questioned privately by the Covode Committee as to procuring some

information on the subject.

As I have stated before, I had had enough of the politician

secret-service business, and did not take kindly to their making any use

of me as a spy on our own headquarters. But this much was established:

there were agents in Washington, wearing the uniform of the Union Army,

who were in communication with our Generals in the field and politicians

in the North, who personally sounded certain officers at a certain hotel

room on the subject. These officers procured from this traitorous

committee all the information they could, and promptly gave it to the

Government officials.

Only one more word of this: one, probably two, of the officers who

procured this information are prominent officials in the Government

service at Washington to-day. Their character for reliability and

truthfulness is unimpeachable. That is all I have to say on this

question at present.

General Burnside was aware of the intrigues--to call it by a mild

term--that were going on among his own officers. As a telegrapher I

handled some correspondence with the War Department at the time which,

turned onto a screen, would make some "handwriting on the wall" that

would more than surprise the war-reading public. The effect would be

greater than any magic-lantern or stereopticon exhibition of

battlefields.

Burnside wanted to arrest Hooker and his friends as public conspirators.

I have heard him talk and act so wildly on this subject, that I believe,

if the provocation had been given Burnside, he would have shot some of

his corps commanders dead. This is not given as an opinion; I state that

there was, and probably is to-day, correspondence on file in the secret

archives that would confirm this statement.

It was Mr. Lincoln who personally and privately, through certain

friends, held Burnside in check.

Of course Burnside was a little "off" on this subject, but under the

distressing conditions and treacherous surroundings of the time it is

not surprising that he should lose his balance at times. General Hooker

probably was obliged to swallow, in secret, some terrible doses of the

same medicine he and others had given to Burnside.

The unhappy condition of our family affairs at headquarters did not

affect me directly. There was a general change of staff officers with

the change of commanders. (Of course the orderlies followed their

chiefs.) I have heretofore explained that I was a "special," on

telegraph and signal duty. My work could not be performed by every one,

therefore I was let alone.

In general appearance General Hooker was as fine a looking specimen of a

General as one would wish to see. In this respect he had but slight

advantage over Burnside, whose appearance was more of the "bishop" style

of high-toned, gentlemanly dignity. Hooker was a soldier all over. In

his ordinary talk he was short and abrupt. When he came out of his

office for a ride, he would strut out to his horse, mount him in a jerky

way, as if in a bad humor, and ride off on a gallop as if he were going

into a fight every time. He was surrounded by a staff who were of course

suited to the chief.

In this way the dreary months were passed at headquarters until just

before the preparations began for the move to Chancellorsville, when I

was ordered on special secret service to go with General Stoneman on his

raid to the rear of General Lee.

I do not know either the exact date of Stoneman's raid nor the number of

horses used. I have nothing in the way of histories of the war for

reference. Desiring to secure something definite in the way of a date, I

looked up Appleton's Cyclopedia, which is supposed to be the American

standard of reference. Turning to "Cavalry," I found several

closely-printed pages of fine type devoted to the subject. With the

feeling that the entire Cavalry history of our war would be condensed in

this American authority, I squared myself in a comfortable position to

study up the subject. After wading through a good deal of ancient

history of cavalry in foreign wars--which, by the way, was commended to

the Americans as a model system--I at last got down to our own war.

Imagine my surprise, if not indignation, to find this authority stating,

among other things, that the "Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac was not

effectively organized until after General Grant had placed it in charge

of General Sheridan."

This statement, so false and misleading, the writer mildly qualifies by

admitting that the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac had been, in a

manner, organized by General Hooker, etc. After those few lines of

stinted praise devoted to the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac, this

historian goes on at great length to detail the history, organization

and work of the Cavalry in the great West.

The authority of General Grant is printed also for the reorganization of

that arm of the service in the West, which seems to have required it

too. The article shows that General Grant gave General Wilson _carte

blanche_ to put this arm into effective service in the West. Then

follows a fulsome history of the Western Cavalry, in which the services

of General Wilson prominently figure.

Such names as Pleasonton, Stoneman, Custer, Kilpatrick, Buford and Gregg

on our side, or Stuart, Wade Hampton, Fitzhugh Lee, Butler, Mosby and

others, on the Rebel side, are lost sight of.

I threw the standard American authority on Cavalry down in disgust, and

after walking the floor long enough to cool off a little, I turned to

the index of the contributors or authors. The explanation was found in

one word--it was Wilson. General Wilson furnished the Cavalry article to

Appleton's Cyclopedia.

I may be treading on somebody's toes in this little prelude, but I feel

that I shall never get on with this story until I relieve my mind on

this question. There is in my mind no disposition to criticize the

soldiers of the Western Cavalry force, but this fact should be put down,

that the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac did as much toward ending

the cruel war as any other branch of the service.

Hooker offered a reward of fifteen dollars for the body of a dead

cavalryman. That was Hooker's bluff way of talking, but the facts are,

nevertheless, that the cavalry at Chancellorsville did their duty and

cut Lee's communications, and if Hooker had done his share there, the

Cavalry would have gathered up the trophies and laid them at his feet.

Hooker, like some others, talked too much. We all remember his famous

message to the President from Chancellorsville (which, by the way, is

the only instance on record of the recognition of the Almighty on the

part of our general officers in the conduct of the war):

"I have got Lee in such a tight place that God Almighty can't get him

out."

Yet within two hours after Hooker had sent this he was running his

130,000 men away from Lee's 60,000.

The Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac was composed of as fine a body of

men in 1863 as were to be found in the Army. Our officers were such men

as Stoneman, Pleasonton, Buford, Custer, Kilpatrick, Gregg. Such men as

the present Commandant at West Point, General Wesley Merritt, who was a

Lieutenant in my Company, composed the line officers.

In the Rebel Army, against this force, rode the best blood of the South

in such men as Wade Hampton, J. E. B. Stuart, Fitzhugh Lee, Mosby, etc.

Not only this best blood in the riders, but the stock they mounted and

the arms they carried were of the very best quality.

The Western armies had, comparatively speaking, a free field; they rode

hundreds of miles unmolested, while we in Virginia dare not show a head

without danger of getting it hit. I am saying all this here not only to

relieve my mind, but to help establish the fact that Appleton's

Cyclopedia is way off. The Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac made its

reputation and did much of its best fighting before Grant and Sheridan

saw it. History will prove this. If the reader will ride with me on this

raid to Richmond and go over Brandy Station battlefield, also to Aldie

and up to Gettysburg, he will be convinced on this point.

When I read of Sheridan's ride down the Valley, done up in poetry, song

and painting, I think of Buford's cavalry battle and Hancock's ride to

Gettysburg, on the first day, when he turned defeat into a great

victory. It was then and there that the great anaconda of secession and

rebellion had its back broken. When Grant and Sheridan came out of the

West, the head of the serpent was, of course, alive and dangerous, but

it was scotched. Therefore the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac

earned, by hard fighting against a superior force, much of its glory

before Sheridan came.

Of course there was not much chance for the Cavalry to operate while we

were in our winter quarters. The river served to separate the two armies

as a sort of barrier or dead-line over which it was dangerous to

venture. Yet, almost every winter night a large force of Cavalry was

detailed to ride to the upper fords to watch J. E. B. Stuart's raiders.

When spring opened at last, almost everybody expected and desired to get

out of our tiresome quarters. Therefore, when the order came to pack our

five-days' rations, I may say that the cavalry arm was rejoiced.

One of the reasons for my not being more familiar with the regimental

brigade and corps history is that I was always on the staff. I only knew

of the movements of such regiments as contained my friends, whom I

visited while in camp. On the march I seldom saw any of them. We rode

along in a loose, dashing way, seemingly as the spirit moved the

General, without any rank formation; the orderlies bringing up the rear

in the dust or mud.

I was ordered to hang to headquarters closely, as it was expected that I

would be of valuable aid in tapping the Rebel telegraph lines between

Richmond and Lee; also, to do any scouting or piloting in the advance to

Richmond, and to signal, if necessary, by rockets, from the rear or

otherwise, as would be found best, over the rebels' heads, to our army

signal officers in Lee's front.

We moved off quietly at night, crossing the river at early dawn at one

of the upper fords. I don't remember whether it was Kelly's or

Beverly's; anyhow, we had to swim our horses partly over it. I didn't

know exactly whither we were bound, except in a general way, that it was

to be a big raid behind Lee and perhaps into Richmond.

We succeeded in a remarkable manner in getting started without

detection. Stuart's cavalry had been led off on a stern chase after some

of our fellows. We passed between Stuart's cavalry and Lee's army. This

fact is important, because the Southern historians assert that General

Lee was not surprised by Hooker's movement on Chancellorsville. He was,

because Stuart couldn't communicate with his General.

I saw at headquarters a dispatch that had been captured by our advance,

which indicated this so clearly that our officers were congratulating

themselves over the fact of our safety as we rode along the first day.

That our movement was a complete surprise was also clearly seen by the

conduct of the inhabitants. We went along quietly enough for awhile,

passing houses from which perhaps we could only see a few ladies gazing

at us from behind the screened windows. At one door stood an old man

leaning on a cane, looking about as old folks are supposed to do when a

funeral procession is passing.

In the "quarters" of the contrabands, usually behind the houses, the

sights were entirely different, however. Big fat aunties stood out in

front of their cabins, but out of sight of the houses, and waved their

bare arms or their aprons at us in a happy way; old uncles lined the

fences, or stood in the fields with their hoes at a "present" as we went

by; pickaninnies of all sizes and shades ran around laughing, showing

their white teeth and white eyeballs, capering as they do now a days

when a Barnum circus goes along.

At the first halt over the river a sort of general order was read, or,

in most cases, talked to the different regiments by their officers, to

the effect that "we were in the enemy's country on an important

campaign." It was, therefore, imperatively commanded that there be no

straggling, no foraging, except under proper escort and under command of

an officer.

Each man was asked to exert himself to the utmost to make the movement a

success. It was also explained that the movement not only required the

greatest vigilance on the part of every man in the command, but it was

expected also that the powers of endurance, both of men and horses,

would be taxed to the utmost. We must conceal ourselves as much as

possible during the daytime and march at night.

One of the towns we reached _en route_ was Louisa Court House. In

Virginia, all the county seats are named court houses. Louisa was not

much of a prize, to be sure, but it was directly in General Lee's rear

at Chancellorsville.

In this quiet old place we bivouacked for a half day or more, while our

forces were up and down the roads, destroying railroad tracks.

Somewhere in this neighborhood is the railroad running between

Gordonsville and Richmond. This track was torn up, and all the railroad

route to Manassas Gap and Washington City from the South was made

useless.

Most of the readers know how a railroad track is destroyed in war, so I

shall describe it very briefly. Of course we were supplied with the

"tools" for drawing spikes from the ties quickly. A number of rails at a

certain point are lifted; the cross-ties are then taken up and built

into a sort of open-work, brick-kiln-shaped pile several feet high,

being quite narrow at the top. On top of this pile of well-oil-soaked,

weather-dried logs are laid the iron rails which have been lifted from

them. These are placed so that the middle of the rail rests on the ties,

the long, heavy ends being balanced over the sides. A fire is kindled in

the tie pile; the grease in the ties, perhaps aided a little by more

combustibles, soon makes as hot a fire as comes from the top of a

furnace. The ties burn up slowly, but with such a constant heat that the

iron rails soon become red hot. While in this soft condition the

overhanging weight of the long ends causes them to bend and twist out of

shape. This renders the rails utterly useless for a railroad track. They

become old scrap-iron, and must be worked over at a mill before they can

be used again as rails. It cannot be straightened out by any process

that will admit of its being again used in rebuilding the destroyed

tracks.

I saw at one point on the track where these hot rails had been lifted

off the fire and twisted around the trunks of trees. After they had

cooled in that shape, the only way to get the old iron was to cut down

the tree and lift the loop over the stump. Of course, the rebels could

repair the tracks in time, but to do this required several days in which

new rails could be transported to the spot.

One of the purposes of this raid to Richmond was to destroy the immense

Tredegar Iron Works on the James River. This large establishment

supplied the Confederates with nearly all their iron materials, such as

cannon, shells, bridge material, and a thousand other articles necessary

in war. To have effected its demolition would have most seriously

crippled the Rebellion.

Of course the details for this anticipated railroad destruction had been

carefully planned before we started. All the necessary appliances for

the work had been brought along. Each officer knew exactly what he was

expected to do, and, as a rule, they all successfully completed their

tasks. It was expected that I should be of service in tapping the

telegraph wires, and to me was left, in a general way, the oversight of

the telegraph business.

The General and his Staff, to which I was attached, did not, of course,

ride in the extreme advance. Imagine my surprise and disgust, on coming

up with a party of these railroad wreckers, to find that they had

exceeded their instructions, and cut down nearly a mile of telegraph

poles to burn with their ties. They had gathered the wire up and piled

it in heaps on the fires. This was exactly what I did not want done. My

purpose was to first tap the wires and attach my pocket instrument and

have some fun out of it. Another reason for disappointment was, that I

had discovered--if not patented--a safer and surer method of destroying

telegraph lines. Of course a mile of wire is more easily transported

then a mile of rails. Two men can carry a half-mile coil of wire. A

telegraph line can be rebuilt and used with the wire lying on trees, or

even fences, in dry weather. Therefore, the cutting out of a mile of

poles was not an effectual interruption. My plan was--and I call

attention of future war-telegraphers to it--to first take some of the

small magnet wire, which is so thin as to be almost invisible, attach

this to the insulator hook, or wire at the top of the pole, lead the

thread of wire down the pole, imbedding it, if possible, in some seam or

crack to further conceal it, and at the bottom of the pole run the other

point of wire into the ground. If this is done, be the wire even as

small as a silk thread, and made of copper, all electric communication

is effectually conducted off its channel. Each current, or wave, or

signal, sent from either side of this wire will take the short cut and

follow it to the ground, where it becomes lost. Neither side can

converse or signal over such an obstruction, and they do not know the

character or location of the trouble, as the wire works as usual. Of

course each operator will wonder why the other does not respond to his

signals, and absence is taken for granted as the reason.

I had supplied myself with a quantity of this fine copper wire. Finding

the point nearest Gordonsville where the wire had not been removed from

the poles, I attached a thread of this thin wire to the line-wire and

led it to the earth, so as to be concealed. I knew very well, from long

experience, that the telegraph operator at Gordonsville would know, from

the loss of all circuit, that the wire had been destroyed at some

point, and it would become his first duty to send a man out along the

road to find out and repair the damage.

We did not want Gordonsville to know that we, the Yankee raiders, were

the destroyers. The piece of wire which I attached to the ground made

the circuit short but complete, so that the wire worked as usual up to

that concealed point, but no further. When the linemen should come out

to repair breaks he would find the wire broken. This he would repair

speedily and return to Gordonsville without discovering the little

ground-trap that I had set. In time it would be discovered, by a system

of tedious and expensive tests from pole to pole, but this would

probably consume several days. A broken or destroyed gap of wire could

be at once discovered and rebuilt in a few hours.

On the same evening, at a point some distance below this destroyed gap

of railroad and telegraph wire, I drew the wire down from a convenient

pole in a secluded way-side grove.

It was about sundown when I, with a few helpers, was dancing around a

pole when the General and Staff road by. Seeing us engaged in this

apparently mysterious business, their curiosity was of course, aroused;

we were questioned, the General and his entire Staff stopping to watch

the result of tapping the rebel wires.

Unfortunately, the premature cutting of the wires that morning had

interfered with my plans for working quietly and secretly in this

direction. When I got my little relay attached to the wire, you may

imagine with what nervousness I took hold of the adjustment spring to

feel for a signal from a distant rebel operator, probably in Richmond.

At first there were no signs of life on the wire. It was while my face

was turned away from the instrument, talking to General Stoneman of the

mistake of the men in cutting the wire, that I heard a faint click on

the magnet. I turned from the General abruptly, bent my ear to the

little ticker, and listened with every nerve and sense strained.

A second signal was soon made, which was lost to my ear by some loud

talking among the Staff. I nervously turned to them and ordered General

Stoneman and his Staff to "keep still."

That's a fact. The General laughed quietly, but didn't dare to open his

mouth again.

I made the signal for interrogation, or question, which all operators

understand to mean, "I did not hear you," or "What did you say?" The

answer came back "Sign," which means give your signature or your office.

I judged at once that, whoever it was, he'd got wind of the raid and was

suspicious. I merely said, as any operator was likely to do after a wire

has been interrupted, "Is this wire O. K. now?" The answer came back

from some point that I dare not attempt to locate by a question: "The

wire has been down all day."

I was compelled to break off the talk by wire to gratify the curiosity

of the General and Staff by an explanation. I told them I had "got"

somebody, but did not know who, and was afraid to give myself away by

asking any questions. The General suggested, "You had better say that

the Yankees cut the wires, and that they have been driven back home

again."

As suggested by the General, I telegraphed: "The wire was cut by those

Yankees on horseback, but it's fixed now."

"Is that so? Who is it?" were the questions fired at me.

"I'm a repairman sent out to fix this wire. The Yankees were chased back

by J. E. B. Stuart to-day."

"Good enough. I thought Jeb wouldn't allow that," were some of the

expressions which were used in reply.

I conveyed these messages to the General and Staff, to their great

delight and amusement. The General was anxious to find out whom we had

on the wire. They all saw from the automatic ticking of the little

machine, when my hands were off it, that it was something at a distance

making the signals. To gratify the General, and get around the question,

I asked: "Is it 'Rd?'" which is the signal I had myself heard used, when

I was at Beauregard's headquarters, from the Richmond office.

"No; it's Supt.'s Office." That was enough. It was the Railroad General

Superintendent's Office. I had reason to think they had been led off by

this talk, and hoped that they would notify the Richmond officials that

the communication by wire had been restored, and that the Yankees had

been driven off. In reality, we had more effectually destroyed their

communication. Instead of being driven off, these Yankees proposed

moving south at once toward Richmond.

The General and Staff rode off, evidently well satisfied with the little

experiment. I was directed to lose no time in following. I "fixed" this

wire to the ground, as I had the other side of the gap, and, after

reporting to the Superintendent's Office that everything was O. K.,

left.

I have no doubt that both the Superintendent's Office and Gordonsville

"called" each other quite a long time that evening, and perhaps each

supposed the other had closed his office for the night and gone home.

Each one of the wires seemed to be all right; in reality it was, as far

as these two taps to the ground.

To make a surer tap, or to more effectually blind the regular telegraph

repair force, I carried with me some leather thongs rolled into a shape

resembling an ordinary piece of line wire. These bits of leather "wires"

were inserted in the telegraph line and connected by the twisted joint,

precisely in the same manner as the real wire. The effect is to break

the continuity of the wire, or metallic circuit. A piece of this sort of

leather an inch in length, inserted into the wire, as completely

destroys the use of 100 miles of wire as if 50 miles of it had been torn

down. Of course, it will be understood that the leather is a

non-conductor of electricity. Not a wave of the current will get over

it. To prevent detection, the leather, or tarred twine, should be an

exact imitation of the real wire. In time it will be detected, of

course, but an ordinary repairman on the lookout for a break will

inspect the wire for days without discovering the hidden flaw.

We traveled nearly all of that night, reaching, I think, nearly to the

James River the next morning. We did not all go in a body or bunch, of

course. Every road was occupied by detachments of the raiders. We went

as we pleased, giving to the people of the interior of Virginia a sight

of the Federal uniform for the first and only time.

A great many of those F. F. V.'s, whom we called upon at their mansions,

discovered, to their chagrin, that the despised "Yankee on a horse" was

a good soldier and a gentleman. Such men as Custer, Kilpatrick, Buford

and Gregg were there.

It would fill a good-sized pamphlet to tell all that I saw on this

raid, so I shall condense as much as possible. We had destroyed all the

railroads in our rear, and were ready to move on the direct line between

Fredericksburg and Richmond.

Several days after we were out, the headquarters were resting or

bivouacking at a large, old-fashioned tavern. I don't remember the name

of the place, but it may be briefly described as one of those country

stopping-places that are so frequent on roads traveled by stages and

freight wagons. On the front of the house, along its entire length, was

the wide porch, containing the usual row of benches and clusters of big

hickory chairs. From this porch, doors opened into a broad hall running

through the middle of the house, also into the office, or bar-room, at

the end of the porch. Around the corner were the benches, or sinks,

containing the basins, or bowls, for washing, while on the wall were

hung a row of towels on rollers.

Seated about this porch, promiscuously, were General Stoneman and Staff.

They had sampled some of the whisky in the bar, and ordered warm meals

for themselves. The attaches and orderlies were scattered around, as

were the bodyguard.

A little distance from the house was a stream of water, or "crick,"

which we learned emptied into the James River, near by.

We were then above or west of Richmond, on the James River. We were all

feeling pretty tired, and, to put it mildly, we rested uneasily at the

old house. The landlord was like every other landlord at such a

place--pot-bellied, red-nosed, good-natured, and pompous.

I had expected, when we rode off so briskly, that I should ride into

Fredericksburg from the rear. I felt on that side of the river, which

had separated us all winter, I was sure of seeing Geno at last. The

great obstruction of the river, which had been in sight all winter, was

now out of mind for the time being. Having heard of the occupation of

the town by our forces, it occurred to me that I might make a little

break on my own hook, and ride up to Fredericksburg.

I said something about it to one of the Staff-officers, who replied that

I'd better hold on and go along with the rest of them. Getting impatient

at this point, where it seemed as if we were hiding (ourselves and

horses) in the woods, I suggested going out to our advance, in hopes of

finding a telegraph wire to tap for news.

[Illustration: TAPPING THE TELEGRAPH WIRE.--"ARE THE YANKS IN

FREDERICKSBURG?"]

This was readily agreed to. I was furnished a couple of men and directed

to the nearest "main road." This, as I now recall it, was a road running

west from Richmond toward the Valley. My impression--gathered from the

colored people--was, that the road led to Lexington or Staunton. Anyway,

I followed it out some way until we found an old-fashioned telegraph

line. I mean by this, one of the early kind built along the highways.

There seemed to be but little travel along that route just then, so we

had a good chance to get at the wire without being seen. One of the men

held our horses and kept guard while another climbed or reached up to

the wire from a fence.

I felt sure, from its dilapidated appearance, that it was some abandoned

old wire. It was rusted so deeply that it snapped asunder at the first

touch of the nippers. While hastily drawing it together again I felt the

shock of a live current in the hand which held the wire. This satisfied

me that we would get something for our trouble.

After I had inserted my instrument into the circuit, the delicate little

armature was at once strongly attracted to the magnet. Adjusting my

spring, I discovered, to my surprise, that our cutting of the wire had

interrupted some dispatches. That they were important, I gathered from

the impatient manner of the operator, demanding to know why he should be

stopped so long in such an important dispatch. I let the two operators

fight it out among themselves for a few moments on that line, each

accusing the other of being responsible for the delay. When they got

started again, I quietly listened to the ticks of the sending operator.

The first words seemed to be giving an account of a battle, in which

certain friends had been injured.

Not being able to restrain my curiosity, and knowing, too, that we

occupied dangerous ground on that highway, I "broke in," at the first

chance, to say:

"Are the Yanks in Fredericksburg?"

"Not much," was the answer which came to my ears and made my heart sink.

"Why, I heard they were there."

"They were there, but Uncle Bob scattered them all back, and they are

running on Washington. Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm a strange operator from New Orleans. I stepped in at this

office to get the news, and found the operator out."

"Well, the news is, the Yanks are all gone to h---- again, and General

Lee is marching on Washington."

I don't remember whether I thanked the Richmond man or not; it's likely

not, as I was so much worked up that I didn't know what I was doing. I

hastily told my companions what I had heard.

They indignantly denied the truth of the story, and insisted that the

Rebel operator was fooling me. On being taunted with this insinuation, I

returned to the key to ask further questions.

In the meantime the ticking kept up, and when I again directed my ear to

it, I heard that which convinced me of the truthfulness of the report. A

report, or long dispatch, was being sent, explanatory of Stonewall

Jackson's being wounded, etc. Without again questioning the operator, I

learned beyond a doubt, in a convincing way, that there had been a

battle, and that the Rebels claimed a victory.

That was enough for that day. We didn't stop to fool any longer with

that wire, but left it open on the ground, took to our horses and

galloped back to the big house. The General and Staff were in the

dining-room. I gave my information breathlessly to one of the Staff, who

communicated it to the General. At once officers were ordered to go in

certain directions, to confirm, if possible, this report. In a very

little while my report was so far confirmed by other scouts that the

mass of the force then scattered over the country, was ordered to move

back rapidly under cover of the coming night.

We at headquarters lay around the house until dark, the General and

officers assuming an air of cheerfulness and indifference they did not

feel.

In order to deceive the landlord and any Rebel spies that might be

hanging around about us, an order was openly issued for a large

detachment to move forward, or in the advance to Richmond. The officer

in command was, I think, Custer. He understood his business, and quietly

let it be known, through his men and the colored people about, that they

were all going ahead. As a matter of fact, his orders were to move

cautiously in that direction and to conceal his force in the woods. At

dark he was to retrace his steps and follow us, becoming our rear-guard

on the retreat.

We were in a tight place, a mighty tight place, being miles from our own

base, not only with a victorious army between us, but J. E. B. Stuart

had got loose, and now had the leisure to follow us up. We must recross

the Rapidan and Rappahannock at certain fords. I can not go into the

details of this great movement. Anyone who reads must see that the

problem of extricating this large body of cavalry was a most difficult

military feat. Yet the movement was made completely and successfully by

the skillful handling of the troops by General Stoneman and his

efficient aides--Custer, Kilpatrick, Buford and Gregg.

At the time I knew General Stoneman he was a little past middle age. I

think his short beard and mustache were tinged with gray. In features he

somewhat resembled Sedgwick. He was not, therefore, a handsome man. In

fact, to most persons, General Stoneman had rather an austere, dignified

bearing that was somewhat repellant. He was cross--awfully cross about

headquarters. The boys used to call him "Dyspepsia," which I think

rather an appropriate title. As a rule, the pet names given the Generals

were suitable.

Some of those who had probably run against him when his hardtack and

bacon did not sit well on his stomach, were fond of intimating that he

had conspired to beat Pleasonton and his friends out of their commands.

I don't know how this was, but it is certain Pleasonton was manoeuvered

out of it for the time being. Pleasonton recently told me this entire

history. There were many "conspiracies" going on in Virginia about that

time. Stoneman's loyalty was even questioned by some of our extra

patriots from New England; probably because he was connected by marriage

with an influential Southern family residing in Baltimore.

I reckon he was one of the

McClellan-Franklin-Fitz-John-Porter-Smith-and-Hooker clique. One little

incident on the march will serve to show his notion of the proper

conduct of the war.

We all foraged a little, despite the general order prohibiting it. As a

matter of fact, it was necessary that we should do so to procure feed

for our jaded horses. While on these expeditions after forage for

horses, etc., the men took the opportunity to buy from the colored

people.

We had a great supply of imitation Confederate money along. Indeed, the

boys generally found out that any piece of paper that looked at all like

a dollar bill would go among the ignorant contrabands. Paper money was

new to them, and it was all alike, good, whether the label off a

pill-box or a genuine greenback. In this way we got around the order

against foraging. We also tendered to the white people their own

Confederate money. If they got mad and demanded gold and silver, the

boys were apt to get mad, too, and help themselves. One day a lot of us

were clearing out a smoke-house in the rear of a big mansion. A certain

officer--now a Brigadier-General in the Regular Cavalry Service--was in

command of the detachment. We had tried to buy, but they wouldn't sell,

so the boys helped themselves.

In that part of the country, the farmers, being so far distant from the

towns, kept a large supply of provisions on hand. In addition to hams

and shoulders, etc., there was a barrel of molasses inside. Every fellow

there filled his canteen and everything he had with the long-drawn

sweetness. It was this slow-running molasses that got us into trouble,

by keeping the boys there too long, waiting their turn at the spigot.

While we were leaving, Stoneman and Staff rode by the house. Seeing us

coming away loaded down with hams, etc., he halted, asked for the

officer, who rode up and saluted.

"What are you doing there?" yelled the General.

"The men were foraging." The officer only got this word out when

Stoneman stopped him with an oath--

"Foraging h----! You're stealing; you're leading a band of robbers."

Turning and putting spurs to his horse, he dashed down the road, leaving

the discomfited officer standing at the head of his enlisted men, who

had heard the unmerited rebuke. That officer was Wesley Merritt, now

General. I suppose General Stoneman was afterward informed that we had

tried to buy, etc.

On a long march of this kind, it is the horses that first give out. As a

cavalryman, I believe I speak for the whole of that arm of the service

in saying, that we were always willing to do without ourselves, but the

poor horse must be provided for.

A cavalryman may be starved and tired almost to exhaustion, but he will

walk miles, in all sorts of weather, doing without sleep or rest, to

carry back an armful of hay or fodder for his horse. It's one of the

dreadful things to be compelled to ride, day and night, a tired, hungry,

but ever-faithful horse.

The men become so much attached to their horses that they will steal,

and risk their lives recklessly, to get them a feed. In the Regular

Service, the men were discouraged from forming any of these horse

attachments. It was found that, when once a soldier made a pet of his

horse, he was apt to be too careful of him.

Mr. Lincoln's jocular remark, that horses had become more valuable than

their riders, because the horses were getting scarce, contains a great

deal of truth.

More consideration was given to the horses than to the men. As an

illustration of the point, the first night of this return march I was

approached by an officer, who was hunting volunteers to ride in the

advance to the river, to get help at the crossings. I explained that I

had been out in the advance every hour and was played out, and was

willing, but afraid I could not stand it. The only consolation I got

from the officer was, "Can your horse stand it? We will risk you."

The officer explained further that he had been sent after me, because I

was understood to be familiar with the country. I was not familiar with

that part of the country, but I agreed to join this advance. Orders were

given to be prepared to move quietly when called upon, and we all layed

down for a little sleep.

In all the pictures of the war published, I have failed to find what I

think would be one of the most striking--a squadron of cavalrymen,

sleeping on their arms under their horses' noses. The horses, saddled,

are all in line; the men, all heavily armed, are lying right in front

sleeping, with the bridle-rein loosely fastened to their left hand. I

have slept soundly, and sweetly, in a line like this. The horse will

sleep and rest also. There is no fear of the horse treading on his

sleeping rider. He seems instinctively to understand that they are both

occupying dangerous ground and must stick together.

It was while resting in this position, after the interview with the

officer, that I formed a plan to go alone in advance of this advance to

our army. At the first opportunity, I suggested to this officer that I

should go alone and see the lay of the land. I preferred this to being

one of a squad of mounted men to ride along to hunt the Rebel

sharpshooters.