Weary as I was I yet had something to do before I could take the needed
rest, which every atom in my jaded frame was loudly demanding.
The time had come to test the feasibility of the plan which had flashed
into my mind as I sat in General Foster's tent, and which I had thought
over and elaborated along the way.
When the idea first entered my head that I could personate my cousin
Salome, enter the enemy's lines, meet her Rebel lover, and from him
learn what the enemy were going to do, and by my own eyes determine the
strength and position of their forces, I had only thought what a huge
joke it would be. Had General Foster returned at once the idea might
have died without further growth, but in the time of waiting I had idly
thought over and over how easily it could be done, and planned this and
that detail until finally the project seized a firm hold of me, and I
had determined, hazardous as it was, to attempt it.
None knew better than I the dangers surrounding such a trip, but I
realized our need of reliable information to take the place of the
flying rumors that could not be trusted, and well I knew that I would
stand every chance of succeeding where others had failed. My love of
adventure, my ambition, my duty to my country, all urged me on. There
was nothing to weigh against the last.
I was acquainted with every inch of the country. I had gone more times
than I can number up and down both sides the river, to and from
Washington and places in the vicinity. I was almost as much at home at
several places near Hagerstown and Frederick as I was at S----, and
every inch of the country between was familiar to me. I had hunted over
it and knew every cross road and rabbit path, every short cut and ford,
and I was well aware that I could baffle pursuit from an enemy not so
entirely familiar with the country.
I had no fear but what I could successfully personate my cousin. My
cousin Salome and I were within a few months of the same age. She had
but one sister and I was an only child. We had been together so much
that we quite looked on ourselves as brother and sister, and I think our
affection was strengthened by the exceedingly strong likeness we bore
each other. So strong was the resemblance that when children we were
constantly taken by strangers not only for brother and sister, but for
twins. One of the favorite pranks of my boyhood had been to don one of
Salome's dresses, and answering the first call made for her, deceive
even her own mother, until a closer view proved the fraud.
Since Salome had grown to the dignity of long dresses and done up hair,
and I to long tailed coats, the resemblance was not so striking, and I,
not liking to look so much like a girl, had done all I could to make it
less so.
Only the Christmas before, however, when we had all been together at
S----, (I had not then joined the Union army), Salome and I had arrayed
ourselves as two old ladies, with close-fitting, lace-frilled caps, and
it had been a long time before any one could decide which was which,
although all the company present had known us both from childhood.
I had never met Captain DeLacy. He had been a stranger to Salome until
they had met three months before at the White Sulphur, where he was
staying to recover from a wound. It was a case of genuine love at first
sight, and the engagement had been contracted on the eve of his
departure for his regiment. At that time I had just entered the Federal
army and Salome was feeling very sore over it, so I was pretty certain
she had never confided to him that she had a cousin fighting against
him, or indeed told him anything about me.
I had learned in Washington that Captain DeLacy was with Dare's
division, which had crossed the Potomac with Luce. My plan was to make
my way across the Potomac, find the whereabouts of Dare's division, make
my way beyond it, assume my disguise and turn back toward the river so
as to approach the Rebel lines after dark. I knew I would be stopped as
soon as I encountered the first Confederate soldiers and an exhibition
of my pass demanded. I would account for its absence by saying I had
lost it. When permission to proceed was refused, as I knew it would be,
I would insist on going on and finally demand an interview with Captain
DeLacy to prove my identity.
Once in his presence, I had little doubt but that I could pass myself
off for Salome. I would tell him I had been called to New York by the
illness of my sister and was trying to get back home, which would be a
plausible story and not likely to be questioned.
I knew I would have to run great risks. There would be first and always
a chance of being picked up and summarily finished in an unprepared
moment. There would be the possibility that Captain DeLacy had been sent
on temporary duty to some other point than that where I expected to find
him. And if I found him, there would be a chance of his having received
a late letter from Salome, which would prove my story a falsehood. Of
the latter, however, I did not think there would be much danger. In our
army orders had gone into effect some days previous that no letters or
papers of any kind should be sent or received. It was most likely that
mail was equally scarce among the Rebels.
I thought it would be strange if I did not gleam a few facts, which
would be of use to us, during my interview with Captain DeLacy and
during the time required to make my way in and out of the Confederate
camp, wherever it might prove to be.
I left my chamber and made my way through the darkened hall to the
family rooms at the front of the house, my footsteps sounding loud in
the unaccustomed stillness. Determined as I was to do what I had
planned, I involuntarily hesitated a moment before I opened the first
closed door, then shaking off the feeling of reluctance, I went on with
my work.
A search of Salome's and my aunt's rooms soon secured me an outfit
sufficient for my purpose--a dark dress, several white petticoats, a
pair of shoes, a long, black cloak and an embroidered neck scarf, which
I had often seen Salome wear, also a heavy black veil and a pair of
gloves, odorous with the perfume Salome always had about her. I carried
the clothes to my room to try the effect.
After putting on the other things I muffled my head in the veil. The
disguise was perfect. Even I was startled for a moment, so precisely did
I look like Salome. I had drawn the veil enough over my face to entirely
conceal my short hair and had contrived to fasten the curl of Salome's,
which I always carried with me, to an inner fold in such a way that it
showed below it at the left side, in exact imitation of the way Salome
had worn one when I had last seen her.
My training had left me deeply tinctured with the idea that an army
officer must have no inconvenient emotions, but I then and there, early
in my career, proved that they do. It was absurd, but I could have wept.
Salome's exact image looked back at me from the mirror, and an intense
longing to take the deceiving reflection into my arms came over me. For
a moment I lost all the pride and valor of a son of Mars. I was only a
very ordinary mortal, to whom the war was hateful in the extreme. I had
no more ambition than an assistant company cook.
It did not last long. I swallowed away at the wretched lump in my throat
and looked at myself, as reflected, with the critical eye of a person
trying to penetrate a disguise.
I could pick no flaw and was soon viewing myself with much complacency,
for my exceedingly ladylike appearance meant that success was nominally
certain.
During that trip was the only time I ever blessed my then slight form
and effeminate voice. Hard service during the war and years of army life
on our Western frontier since, have changed all that, and lost me every
trace of that hated "prettiness," which at that time had gained me from
my associates the sobriquet I so detested, and caused me so much genuine
anguish of soul and many downfalls of pride.
Fully satisfied, I divested myself of my borrowed apparel and darkening
the windows, just as the sun rose over the mountains, I was soon
oblivious to everything around me.