A firm resolve broken; A layover at Pittsburg; At Beloit, Wis.; The fall of Fort Donelson.

COMPANIES were secretly organized and meeting places agreed upon far out on the eastern border. Some of these companies were butchered by the Indians; others overtaken and captured by the Federal cavalry. My brother, suspecting my state of mind, came out and we held a conference. He had large interests there and some in Alabama. He proposed to leave me there to look after his affairs while he came through the lines; but that was not my mind at all. I announced my purpose to go. He was opposed to my attempting the trip across the plains no matter how strong the company that accompanied me. He wanted me to run no risks. He planned the trip—back over the same route to New York, thence to Wisconsin to the home of an old friend, to remain until spring—meantime, corresponding with Col. U. S. Grant, the military commander at Cairo, Ill., to get a pass, if possible, on some pretext or other, through the lines.

MY FIRM RESOLVE

against ever again going on an ocean steamer had to be broken. I was in a condition of mind which would have made me willing to attempt the trip in a balloon. On November 30, 1861, I took the steamer. On January 1st, I reached my destination at Beloit, Wis. The trip was full of interesting incidents, but I mention only two. I made the acquaintance on the steamer of a Marylander, who had been in California for many years. His destination was Baltimore. He expected to get through the lines and join the Confederate cavalry. When we reached New York, he gave me a little four barrel Sharp's pistol with one hundred cartridges. He expected to equip himself with something more formidable. This, the only pistol I ever owned, was one of the most harmless weapons I ever saw. I mention it now only to introduce it later.

Reaching Panama and boarding the Isthmus train, I observed a frail young fellow in the uniform of a lieutenant of U. S. Navy passing through the train frequently, viewing with some care the passengers. He seemed to let his gaze rest upon me each time, in a way to make me a little uncomfortable. Was it possible, I thought, that somebody had found out my secret and had sent this chap aboard to look me out and arrest me when I reached Aspinwall? In the few hours ride across the Isthmus, I worked myself up to a very unhappy state of mind. It was after dark when we got aboard the steamer North Star, the same I had gone out in, which the Government afterwards purchased and turned into a gunboat. While the passengers were all in line approaching the office to have their rooms assigned, I was approached by the young officer who asked to see me. My heart flew up in my throat. All my fears were about to be realized. I felt sure I'd be on a man-of-war and in irons in a few minutes. I controlled myself enough to protest that if I should leave the line I would lose my place and have to drop back to the foot. "I want to see you about that very thing," he said. "I have a room for you." My eyes, I know were nearly as big as saucers, and I must have been pale as a sheet. I made some reply and remained in line. "Come," he said in a very earnest, tender tone, "I have seen the captain and he has given me a room and permitted me to choose my own room-mate, and I have picked you out." I felt reassured, and followed him to the identical berth I had suffered tortures in nearly two years before.

In a little while he had discovered that I was Southern and he turned out to be a Virginian, who was playing sick and was off on a furlough. "There is nothing the matter with me," he said, "I expect to be in the Confederate Navy in thirty days." But in spite of this remark, his uniform scared me and I gave him no intimations of my intentions. My old Maryland friend and I tied on to each other. Neither of us sought acquaintances with others of the passengers.

On the way from Jersey City to Chicago, I was left while at dinner at Altoona, Pa. My baggage of course went on.

THIS REQUIRED A LAY-OVER AT PITTSBURG,

where my belongings had been stopped. The day happened to be Sunday. Growing tired of the hotel, I thought to walk about the city some after dinner. Picking up the city directory I glanced through it curiously and chanced to see the name "Crumpton." Over the river, in Alleghaney City, there seemed to be quite a family of them. I took the number of the street and went in quest of kins folk, not dreaming of trouble. Finding the place, I rang the bell and found the family at dinner. I was ushered into the parlor and left alone.

Glancing around the room, I saw American flags everywhere and the pictures of Lincoln and Hamlin, the President and Vice-President. "What a fool I am," I thought. My curiosity had gotten me into trouble; but I must get out somehow. To slip out of the house, while the family were yet at dinner would never do. I determined to face the difficulty. I never knew why I was named Washington unless it was because the father of his country was born on February 22nd and I on the 24th. However, you must remember there were several years intervening between the birthdays of these two distinguished men. I was very unlike my illustrious namesake. He never could tell a lie, I had been successful in the attempt several times; but I could not hide a lie. If any one looked straight at me I would betray myself. On this occasion, I stuck as near the truth as I could and I guess the story was plausible; at least it was not questioned.

I learned from the two young men, who met me in the parlor, that their father was an Episcopal clergyman, out of the city that day; that he had several sons in the Union army, and these were getting ready to go. I was pressed earnestly to remain over night and see the father, but I was pressed for time and turned a deaf ear to all their appeals and, as soon as possible, excused myself and returned to the hotel. I was afraid of my new found kin; but they were hard to shake off. One of the young men accompanied me to the hotel and that night returned with an earnest invitation from the father, who had returned, to visit him before I left the city. A great weight was lifted when he left me and I boarded the train for Chicago. At Altoona and Pittsburg, in the hotel lobbies, I was compelled to hear war talk of the most offensive character by the crowds of loafers who thronged there to hear the news. It was only a few miles to the West Virginia line. The war was on everybody's lips. There I sat in the midst of the talkers, one lone Southerner, with a secret purpose in my mind which would have brought me into trouble if it has been suspected. My lips were sealed of course, but sometimes it was very hard to keep silent.

AT BELOIT, WISCONSIN,

or rather, four miles in the country, I met a warm welcome from my brother's old friends. He had met them in California in the early days. I learned also that there was a match brewing between him and the oldest daughter, which was afterwards consummated.

How the snow did pile up soon after I reached Wisconsin! I had never seen the like before. My friends, knowing that I was a Southerner and unused to such severe weather, were as tender of me as if I had been a baby; but in a few days I did not at all mind it. Winter time is the time for visiting in the North, and so I was on the go with the family much of the time. Another way I spent my time was to go out in the deep snow in the fields. Sometimes a rabbit, frightened at my crushing through the crust of the snow, would jump out of his hole ten feet away and sit for a moment, loath to run away in the cold. Many a time I emptied my pistol at him and would then throw the gun at him before he would run away. That gun will be heard from again. Without any talk about it, I secured a large map of the "Seat of the war in the West." This I put on the wall in the dining room. It gave all the public roads. With the study of the map, I read diligently the Chicago Daily Times, which gave the movements of troops along the route I might choose. I picked out two routes; one through Southeast Missouri, the other through Kentucky and Tennessee, both branching out from Southern Illinois. My brother hoped I would become satisfied to remain in this lovely Northern home and go to school, but I was bent on going to the war. I did as he suggested, however; I corresponded with Col. U. S. Grant, commandant of the post at Cairo, Ill., afterwards the great General and twice President, asking for a pass-port south, and received a very kind letter in reply, but denying the request.

I might have remained in Wisconsin until spring, when I could have had better weather and more money, but for an incident I will presently relate.

THE FALL OF FT. DONELSON,

in Tennessee, was a fearful blow to me. Of course there was great exultation everywhere up North. I saw and heard it all, but could say nothing. One day while in Beloit, I saw a great crowd on the sidewalk. Drawing near I discovered the attraction. It was a butternut jeans jacket, which had been taken off a dead Confederate at Ft. Donelson. It was shot through and was saturated with blood. On it was a large placard with these words:

"Taken from the dead body of Private Turner of the Mississippi Rifles on the battlefield of Fort Donelson."

I gazed at it for a moment and heard the exultant laugh and jeers from the toughs who gathered about it. I turned away with clenched teeth, determined to go South at all hazards and at once I announced to my friends that evening that I was going to Chicago, a hundred miles away, next morning to see the Fort Donelson prisoners who were confined in Camp Douglas.

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