AT REBEL HEADQUARTERS.—Page 263.

The rebel lines were guarded so strongly and so faithfully, that I did not dare to return that night, but waited anxiously for the dawn of the morrow.

Early on the following morning, while assisting the cook to carry in breakfast, I removed a coat from a camp-stool which stood in my way, and a number of papers fell from its pockets, which I instantly transferred to my own. I then hurried my arrangements in the tent, lest the documents should be missed before I could make my escape. Breakfast was announced, and I suddenly disappeared.

Going toward the picket line nearest the Federals, and seeing an old house in the distance, I went and hid myself in the cellar. Soon, firing commenced in different directions, and grew hotter and hotter, until the shot and shell began to shake the old house in which I had taken refuge, and by and by it came tumbling down around me. A part of the floor was broken down, but still I remained unharmed, and did not attempt to leave the ruins. I remembered that good old Elijah remained in the cave during the tempest, the earthquake and the fire, and afterward came the still small voice. So I waited patiently for the still small voice, and felt secure; knowing that the Lord was a sure refuge, and could protect me there as well as in a drawing-room in the quiet city.

It was not long before deliverance came, and the rebels were obliged to fall back and take a new position. When the firing ceased, I was safely within the Federal lines. I went immediately to headquarters, and reported myself as having just returned from rebeldom; gave a brief relation of my experience, and delivered the documents which I had brought from rebel headquarters. These proved to be orders intended for the different corps commanders, with instructions how and when to move, so as to act in concert with the entire plan of the morrow, and insure the capture of Washington.

During those battles and skirmishes of Pope’s memorable campaign, I visited the rebel generals three times at their own camp-fires, within a period of ten days, and came away with valuable information, unsuspected and unmolested.

While the second battle of Bull Run was in progress, I was a part of the time with the Confederates, and then back again to the Federals, having made my escape while the battle raged most fiercely by concealing myself in a ravine, and watching until the rebels charged upon a battery. While they were engaged in a hand-to-hand fight, I escaped unobserved by friend or foe.

The last of these visits was made the night before the battle of Chentilla, in which the brave Kearney was killed. I was within a few rods of him when he fell, and was in the act of returning to the Union camp under cover of the extreme darkness of that never-to-be-forgotten night. I saw him ride up to the line, but supposed him to be a rebel officer until the pickets fired at him, and even then I thought they had fired at me, until I saw him fall from his horse, and heard their exclamations of joy when they discovered who he was; for the one-armed general was known throughout both armies for his bravery and brilliant career, and the name of Kearney had become a word of terror to the rebels.

When I learned who was their victim, I regretted that it had not been me instead of him, whom they had discovered and shot. I would willingly have died to save such a general to the Union army. But he was taken, while I, poor insignificant creature, was left; but left with a heart and soul as fully devoted to the Union cause as Kearney’s was; only lacking the ability to accomplish the same results.I lost no time in making good my escape, while the attention of the pickets were drawn in another direction. When I came to our lines, I found it almost as difficult to get through as I had found it on the other side. The night was so dark I could not make any sign by which the pickets could recognize me, and I was in the depths of the forest, where the rustling of the leaves and the crackling of dry branches under my feet betrayed my foot-steps as I went along. However, after crawling up pretty close to the line, and getting behind a tree to screen me from the bullets, if they should fire, I managed to make myself understood. The picket said: “All right,” and I passed through in safety.

Coming within the lines, I saw a group of men kneeling on the ground digging a grave with their bayonets, with the least possible noise; for the picket lines were within half musket shot of each other. One of their comrades had been killed, and they were thus preparing his last resting-place.

They buried him darkly at dead of night,
The turf with their bayonets turning.

But there were no “struggling moonbeams,” or glimmering stars, to shed a ray of light upon the midnight gloom of that solitary funeral—naught save the vivid flashes of lurid flame which the lightning cast upon the sad scene, lighting up for a moment the surrounding forest, and then dying away, leaving the darkness more intolerable.We may well say of such as die at their post:

Sweet be the death of those
Who for their country die;
Sleep on her bosom for repose,
And triumph where they lie.

After reaching headquarters and donning another costume, I was dispatched to Washington with official documents to McClellan, who was now in command of the defenses of the Capital, and had control of all the troops who came streaming in from the disastrous battle-field. I arrived in the city just as the morning light was breaking, drenched from head to foot, and looking as if mud was my native element.

Making my way to where I supposed headquarters to be, I saw an important looking individual near by, whom I addressed, and inquired if he could tell me where General McClellan was to be found? “No, I can not.” Could he tell me when he was expected at headquarters? “No.” Was there any person there of whom I could inquire? “Not a person.” Did he know of any place where the necessary information could be obtained? “Not a place.” Could he make any suggestion, or throw the least ray of light upon the subject, which might lead to the whereabouts of the general? “Not the slightest.”

Turning away in disgust, I said to the man, “Well, good-by, Mr. Negative. I hope the effort which you have made to assist me will not injure you mentally or physically;” and so saying I rode away, feeling that if I was as big as he imagined himself, and as strong as he was indifferent, I would give him a vigorous shaking before leaving him.

I went next to General H.’s headquarters. No one there could tell me anything more definite than that the general had been gone all night, carrying out General Halleck’s orders and making the best possible disposition of the troops as fast as they came in, for the whole army was now in full retreat. After two hours search I found him, delivered the despatches, and returned to Washington, where I remained until the next day, being completely tired out, not having had a night’s sleep for five nights previous.

On the first of September, General McClellan had an interview with the President, who requested him to use all his influence with the Army of the Potomac to insure its hearty co-operation with General Pope’s army. In compliance with the President’s request, McClellan sent the following despatch to General Porter: “I ask of you, for my sake, that of the country, and the old Army of the Potomac, that you and all my friends will lend the fullest and most cordial co-operation to General Pope in all the operations now going on. The destinies of our country, the honor of our arms, are at stake, and all depends upon the cheerful co-operation of all in the field. This week is the crisis of our fate. Say the same thing to my friends in the Army of the Potomac, and that the last request I have to make of them is, that, for their country’s sake, they will extend to General Pope the same support they ever have to me.”

Immediately after this followed the brilliant and triumphant victories at South Mountain and Antietam, which more than counterbalanced the disastrous campaign of Pope, and which sent a thrill of joy throughout the North.

But in this, as in most other instances of earthly bliss, the joy was not unmixed with sorrow—sorrow for the noble dead and wounded upon those bloody fields. At the memorable battle of Antietam there were nearly two hundred thousand men and five hundred pieces of artillery engaged during a period of fourteen hours without cessation; and at its termination two thousand seven hundred of the enemy’s dead lay upon the field. The report of the Federal general in command says: “Thirteen guns, thirty-nine colors, upwards of fifteen thousand stand of small arms, and more than six thousand prisoners, were the trophies which attest the success of our army in the battles of South Mountain, Crampton’s Gap, and Antietam. Not a single gun or color was lost by our army during these battles.”

At the close of the battle I stood by the side of a dying officer of one of the Massachusetts regiments, who had passed through the thickest of the fight unhurt, but just at the close of the battle he was struck by a random shot which wounded him mortally. As he lay there, conscious of approaching death, the musicians of the regiment happened to pass by. He requested that they might be asked to play the “Star-Spangled Banner.” They cheerfully complied with the dying man’s request, and while they played the grand old tune his countenance beamed with joy. He inquired the result of the battle, and when told that it was a victory he exclaimed—“Oh! it is glorious to die for one’s country at such a time as this!” Then turning to the chaplain he spoke in the most affecting manner; he said his trust was in the Redeemer; then he sent loving messages to his mother and friends at home. The chaplain read some comforting passages of Scripture and prayed with him, and soon after the happy spirit passed away.

Some one very appropriately says: “When such sacrifices are laid upon the altar of our country, we have surely new incentives to uphold the cause for which they are made, and, with God’s help, not to allow the treason which has slain so many victims, to accomplish its purpose. And, through this bloody baptism, shall not our nation be purified at length, and fitted to act a nobler part in the world’s history?” God grant it.

In passing among the wounded after they had been carried from the field, my attention was attracted by the pale, sweet face of a youthful soldier who was severely wounded in the neck. The wound still bled profusely, and the boy was growing faint from loss of blood. I stooped down and asked him if there was anything he would like to have done for him. The soldier turned a pair of beautiful, clear, intelligent eyes upon me for a moment in an earnest gaze, and then, as if satisfied with the scrutiny, said faintly: “Yes, yes; there is something to be done, and that quickly, for I am dying.”

AN INTERESTING PATIENT.—Page 271.

Something in the tone and voice made me look more closely at the face of the speaker, and that look satisfied me that my suspicion was well founded. I went to one of the surgeons in attendance, and requested him to come and see my patient. He did so, and after a moment’s examination of the wound told me that nothing could be done whatever to save him. He then left me, and I administered a little brandy and water to strengthen the wounded boy, for he evidently wished to tell me something that was on his mind before he died. The little trembling hand beckoned me closer, and I knelt down beside him and bent my head until it touched the golden locks on the pale brow before me; I listened with breathless attention to catch every sound which fell from those dying lips, the substance of which was as follows:

“I can trust you, and will tell you a secret. I am not what I seem, but am a female. I enlisted from the purest motives, and have remained undiscovered and unsuspected. I have neither father, mother nor sister. My only brother was killed to-day. I closed his eyes about an hour before I was wounded. I shall soon be with him. I am a christian, and have maintained the christian character ever since I entered the army. I have performed the duties of a soldier faithfully, and am willing to die for the cause of truth and freedom. My trust is in God, and I die in peace. I wish you to bury me with your own hands, that none may know after my death that I am other than my appearance indicates.” Then looking at me again in that earnest, scrutinizing manner, she said: “I know I can trust you—you will do as I have requested?”

I assured her that she might place implicit confidence in me, and that I would do as she had desired me. Then I sought out a chaplain, who came and prayed with her. She was calm and peaceful. I remained with her until she died, which was about an hour. Then making a grave for her under the shadow of a mulberry tree near the battle-field, apart from all others, with the assistance of two of the boys who were detailed to bury the dead, I carried her remains to that lonely spot and gave her a soldier’s burial, without coffin or shroud, only a blanket for a winding-sheet. There she sleeps in that beautiful forest where the soft southern breezes sigh mournfully through the foliage, and the little birds sing sweetly above her grave.

Her race is run. In Southern clime
She rests among the brave;
Where perfumed blossoms gently fall,
Like tears, around her grave.
No loving friends are near to weep
Or plant bright flowers there;
But birdlings chant a requiem sweet,
And strangers breathe a prayer.
She sleeps in peace; yes, sweetly sleeps,
Her sorrows all are o’er;
With her the storms of life are past:
She’s found the heavenly shore.