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.