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 attachÉs 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.

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.

If there is anything in war that is embarrassing, it is to be on a cavalry line with orders to draw the enemy's fire.

On Stoneman's raid, and after, the force generally was fought dismounted; that is, No. 4 holds the horses of Nos. 1, 2 and 3, who advance as an infantry skirmish-line. They are armed with Spencer rifles, and go along gingerly over a big field, at the other end of which is a wood, to ascertain if the Rebels are in that wood. The poor skirmishers know damn well the Rebs are there, but their orders are to go down in this way, and find out by getting shot at.

Having had a taste of this sort of advance-guard service, wherein I had attracted too much Rebel fire, I was anxious to be excused. My plan was to go alone on my horse as a Scout or Spy. I should not carry any arms to be seen, and would dress as a Rebel or country farmer-boy. I thought that, in this guise, I could ride freely over the roads and get into our lines. The scheme seemed to please our officer immensely, and he reported the matter to General Stoneman's Chief of Staff. I was ordered to report to the Chief, and again unfolded my plan. He suggested, among other things, that I should, if I met any questioners, endeavor to mislead them as to the number and, especially, the route of our cavalry.

A disguise was obtained; it was a dirty old jacket, borrowed from a contraband cook. Several persons interested themselves in my make up; one got me a straw hat, another a pair of trousers, etc.

I left all my arms except a pistol, and, when ready to go, I paralyzed them by demanding a bunch of signal rockets. I explained that I should only use them in case of extreme danger; that the appearance of a certain rocket at night would indicate that that neighborhood was to be avoided. In carrying these rockets, and exploding them, I knew that I ran great personal risk, but somehow I felt that, alone, I would be able to get through. I was only nervous and doubtful of myself when working in company.

The General, or at least his Staff, was most solicitous that I should deceive or mislead the people as to their real force and purpose. We only anticipated serious trouble at the fords on the Rapidan, and possibly the Rappahannock.

The General had heard, through the Captain, of some sick and wounded Rebel soldiers who were returning from Chancellorsville to the interior, that Hooker had been defeated. He had also ascertained that the report I had brought about their marching on Washington City was exaggerated. We expected, naturally, that some steps would be taken by our army to help us out. We also expected that Stuart would endeavor to head us off and capture the entire force.

This was about the condition of things when I started out on the road alone towards the Rappahannock. For mile after mile I met nothing. At the few scattered houses I would dash up and breathlessly ask for information about the Yankees. At the colored quarters I scattered the news that the Yankees had gone back into the Valley.

On this return march, Stoneman did not once show a horse on a road during the daytime. This fact probably accounts for his success. During every day the men were all concealed in suitable places. Skirmishers, of course, kept guard, and, at a moment's warning, the whole cavalry force would have been up in arms as infantry behind breastworks to repel an attack. The marching was all done at night. Men sleep pretty well on horseback when they are as tired out as were Stoneman's raiders. A column of horses will follow each other without the use of any bridle over the most devious roads.

One of the funny things about the raid was, that nearly half of the cavalrymen were bare-headed when they got back. This resulted from sleeping in the saddle on these night marches. The narrow roads we were compelled to take were overhung with the branches of trees; these stripped the hats off the sleeping beauties. Very often, too, the rider in front would grasp a switch, or limb, and hold on till he was safely passed; then, without a thought of the sleepy rider in his rear, he would let go, and the switch, flying back, would strike the man in the face. This sort of thing wakened up a good many sleepers and made some disturbances in the ranks. It had the effect, also, of making the faces of those who caught the switch look decidedly as if they had come out of a free fight, especially if they were hatless.

My ride along during that day was without special incident. I was more than surprised to find the path clear of Rebel soldiers. I did all that was expected of me as a Scout, in circulating freely the false information that our force had gone the other way.

With a great deal of trepidation I approached the crossing of the Rapidan. I knew that, if there was a force of Rebels any place in our path, they would be there. I inquired particularly of everyone I would meet if there were any Yankees on the road. I knew very well that, in asking this question, I'd find out whether there were Rebels around. There were no Yankees there, but a few of the Rebels had been seen over the river in the morning. Here was my dilemma. The crossing was clear now, but how long it would remain so was uncertain.

I was too far from our men to make any signal to them that the road was clear. I didn't like to venture over the river alone, where those Rebels had been seen. The important thing was to report that ford clear. I staked my horse in an adjoining grove, determined to conceal myself until night.

As the early evening wore on and no enemy showed themselves, I became impatient at lying idle, and boldly determined to ride back to our force before dark. I knew very well that, once we were safely over that river at this crossing, with its steep precipitous banks, with our men in force, we had a clear field for a run, or a fight with J. E. B. Stuart to the Rappahannock.

Therefore I rode back at a gallop over all the long road. Just after dark I met the advance of our force,—the same I had been asked to volunteer with.

Hastily informing the officer in command of my observations at the ferry, that the crossing was not occupied, etc., he reported to the General.

In a little while there came dashing up the road the head of our column. Nobody stopped to thank me for the good news that we could get over the river, but all were intent on getting there at once. In a word, the entire force got over all right, and, in due time, we crossed the Rappahannock, and were once more safely within our own lines.

I do not know the figures for this raid. I have drawn my recollections of it to an abrupt termination. My impression is, that we lost nothing of material importance. We captured a good many prisoners, probably more than we lost. My notion is that the cavalry can boast that we brought back the force intact.

One great good was accomplished by the raid—the Rebels were again taught to show more respect to a Yankee on horseback. It was Hooker who failed, not his cavalry.

The truth should not be overlooked, that the partial success of the expedition was not due to General Hooker, nor even to his Lieutenant, General Stoneman. The one man to whom more credit is probably due than any other was General Alexander, the Chief of Staff of the Cavalry Corps, who served both with Stoneman and Pleasonton. It was he who planned and organized this great raid; it was his object and aim to go to Richmond, and that we did not go in while at the back gates of the city is to be charged solely to Stoneman or Hooker.

This is not an opinion merely. I rode close by General Alexander one day, and heard him with my own big ears urge, yes plead with Stoneman to go on into Richmond anyhow. I heard Stoneman's voice utter the words: "I know d—— well we can do it, but my orders are not to go to Richmond."

General Alexander was a large man, with a full beard, who talked in a slow, deliberate voice, but always in a kindly manner. He became somewhat ruffled at Stoneman's declining to act upon his suggestion, and I recall very distinctly how this ordinarily quiet man became as much interested in his subject as a Methodist preacher or politician in an argument, on horseback.

Both were so intent upon the question that neither took any notice of the little orderly in a dirty uniform who was riding near them.

My impression then was that Stoneman was too much of a regular of the old school to disobey an order, even if he knew it would result in great good to his cause.

Whether there was such an order from headquarters can perhaps be established from the records—

That one could have gone into Richmond was freely admitted by the general officer in command.

We returned to our old camps at Fredericksburg again. In this way I hovered about that ill-fated Fredericksburg during all that winter, and until the movement to Gettysburg, without once having an opportunity to get into the town, though our troops had been there. It was my luck to have been absent at the time. For some unfathomable reason, the fates were against me every time.

I shall never do this subject justice until I write a novel, giving the entire story.

Fredericksburg during all these days presented, from our side, a gloomy, deserted appearance. There were always a few Confederate sentries on duty, which we could see on the streets. At the river crossing, or ferry, an occasional flag-of-truce boat would be rowed over, but on these occasions the General Staff-officers conducted the courtesies. Men and orderlies were invariably placed to prevent any but the two officers interested from getting a word with the Confederates.

Right here I will remark that I've witnessed innumerable flag-of-truce exchanges, but I do not recall a single instance in which a bottle was not passed around as a preliminary to the business in hand. I presume the custom originated from the Indians smoking the pipe of peace.

One funny remark on an occasion of this sort remains in my memory. An enlisted man near me, seeing a Rebel taking a long pull at the flask of Union commissary, which our officer presented with a supercilious bow, said: "Well, I'm —— if this is not getting to be too much of a civil war." He probably felt disgusted because he did not have an opportunity at the flask.

One day I was startled by the sounds of artillery, and an accompaniment, which, to me, resembled more than anything I can compare it with, a whole lot of carpenters tearing down a frame house. One would have thought there was a man with a hatchet, pounding sharply on every board, as if they were having a contest among themselves to see who could hit the fastest.

I rode hurriedly down to the river, below town, to see what it was all about. In those days, I never stopped to ask anybody's advice or consent, but followed my own impulses and inclinations. I passed some General officers and Staff on a hill-side near the batteries that were firing, who had their glasses pointed in the direction of the hammering.

When I got to the river, as close as my horse could go without jumping down the steep bank, I saw, to my surprise, that from all along the rifle-pits that lined the top of the bank on the Rebel side was a line of white smoke—indeed, the smoke almost concealed the rifle-pits.

It was from behind this bank of foggy smoke that all the hammering noises came. It was caused by the sounds of hundreds and hundreds of rifle-shots "at will," but in such rapid succession that it resembled, as I have said, innumerable hammers on a frame house.

My horse could not get me close enough to see down to the edge of the water on our side, and I was about to dismount and get closer, when I saw coming up the steep road, that had been cut in the bank, a procession that took the blood out of my heart. There were two men dragging (not carrying) a dead soldier, while a closer glance showed all along the side of that steep bank dozens of others, either dead or dying.

It was the Engineer Corps of the Army of the Potomac that were down there behind that bank trying to lay a pontoon bridge over the Rappahannock.

The artillery "support" had no more effect in quieting that incessant hammering than if their shots had been fired into the air.

I stood there for a while, absolutely paralyzed, at a distance not much greater than the width of a street, watching those Rebels bob up all along that rifle-pit, puff out the white smoke, and their heads go down behind the long line of yellow clay out of sight, all along the line.

I have often since wondered that one of those fellows did not pick me off my horse, as I sat there an absurdly-conspicuous mark.

If they had not been so busy watching those who were trying to lay that pontoon, they would undoubtedly have dropped me. My position on the horse would naturally be taken for that of an officer. I assert here that more desperate or more heroic service has never been performed than by those of our Engineer Corps in their laying of pontoons in the face of the enemy's fire from rifle-pits.

It seemed to me, on a closer inspection of the work that day, that they carried out a dead man for every plank they laid on the pontoons. When it is remembered that these men necessarily work en masse, and that almost every shot from an enemy must hit something, it will be seen how much exposed to deadly fire the quiet Engineer Corps become. In the charges on rifle-pits or forts, or on an enemy's line, there is always something of the excitement of a rush or hurrah that impels men forward with loaded guns and pointed bayonets in their hands; but, in laying pontoons over a river in the face of the enemy, a courage and nerve are required that, to my notion, is far beyond the ordinary.

I often wonder that some of the accomplished Engineer officers do not give this matter their attention in the histories of the war that every other branch of the service is showering upon the land.

These men, supported by the artillery and a few infantry, succeeded at last in getting so many boats launched that the Rebels concluded it was time to quit bothering them any longer, when, all at once, every Rebel popped from behind his rifle-pits, took to his heels and ran for dear life across the plain toward the hills. Of course, our artillery opened upon them at a lively rate. In spite of the fact that the dead and wounded were thick around me, I yelled with as much fun and delight as I have since at baseball games to see a man make a home-run.

Not a single Johnny dropped, though they threw their guns away to lighten them in the race for the home-run.

This occurred some distance below Fredericksburg, and as there did not seem to me to be any intended movement of troops over the pontoons, which had been laid at such a terrible sacrifice of life, I rode off to the upper fords near the Lacey House, expecting to get over there. I was told, on reaching headquarters, that this was simply a "diversion," to detain, or ascertain if the enemy were still in our front.

Great Scott! what a disappointment to me. What a terrible thing is war, that will permit, as a simple diversion, the murdering in cold blood of hundreds of men without intending to profit by their work at all.

The services of a single reliable Spy, or Scout, would have accomplished more than all of this diversion. That evening the Staff moved off and I went along. I did not know then where we were going. I supposed, as did everyone else, that it was to be another battle somewhere near Fredericksburg. It never occurred to my mind then, that, in riding away from the Lacey House that June evening, I should never see it again.

I do not suppose a dozen persons outside of General Lee's staff, imagined we were going to ride home to Pennsylvania—to Gettysburg. That's where we went. And, before leaving Fredericksburg, I wanted to say a few words of farewell to Geno.

There are one or two old, old songs, which have always remained such particular favorites with me that my friends have learned to expect me to call for them, in season or out of season.

I mention them now for the benefit of the sons and daughters of veterans, and the other friends, young and old, who have followed the "boy" in his love-making under the great difficulties that a war develops.

They are beautiful songs besides and the words and melody more clearly define the romance than my pen could describe.

I have already detailed the experiences with Geno, who so gracefully handled a guitar in her beautifully-formed bare arms, as she skillfully played an accompaniment to "Juanita." It was that old, old song and "them" eyes that put me in Old Capitol Prison.

I would advise any of the young lady readers, with black hair and pretty eyes, to get a guitar and practice "Juanita" on the boys. It will bring them down every time.

Another old favorite is "Evangeline," which so fully expresses my sentiments on the past.

Surely, there never was a sweeter and more appropriate love song than my "Lost Evangeline." While the song of separation is the sweetly familiar "In the Gloaming."

Another beautiful air and words is entitled "Someday"—strikingly expressive of future hopes. This I heard sung first in the parlor of a hotel in the far, far West, when I was traveling in California, where it had the effect of making me homesick.

Since the close of the war, I have wandered all over the land, like Gabriel in search of his Evangeline. I was shipwrecked on the Pacific Ocean at the mouth of the Columbia River, in the extreme Northwest. I sailed up the Columbia River with some such feelings as an explorer must experience on discovering a new continent. I visited the eternally snow-capped Mount Hood, rode around Puget Sound to British Columbia, went over the Cascades and The Dalles, in Oregon, to the western slope of the Rocky Mountains in Montana, thence over miles of wild mountain roads in Oregon and California on stage coaches, where Indians and stage-robbers thrive. I have lived in San Francisco, spent part of a winter in Los Angeles, lived among the Mormons in Utah for six months; in truth, I have been everywhere, but I have not yet found a trace of the long-lost Geno. While I have not exactly been searching for Geno on these travels, I have never given up the hope of some day seeing her, and as long as I live I never shall.

I don't know how it may be with Geno; it is likely she has a good husband—better than I would have been—and that she is devoted to him and her family; but, in my secret heart, I hope the old saying will prove true, that a woman never forgets her first love, and that some day, in some unseen manner, Geno may read this and see that I have not forgotten her. This has been to my life only a sweet memory, which I shall cherish fondly as such to the end. "Her bright smile haunts me still."

"Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
Oh, death in life! the days that are no more."

After leaving Falmouth, the headquarters of Cavalry corps were quartered in an old house somewhere convenient to the railroad and telegraph wires that run into Alexandria. It was probably close by the Sixth Corps' position, as General Sedgwick occupied the same house with his Staff, and as their horses were tied about the fences.

One little incident will serve to locate me. General Pleasonton was then the Chief of Cavalry, to whose General Staff I was afterward attached. He also occupied rooms in this same building. Late one night a message was brought in to me to deliver to the General. The building we were in had been apparently deserted by the family. I was told by some of the officers that I'd find General Pleasonton in his room up stairs. I went tramping up the uncarpeted steps, with my big cavalry boots and spurs rattling and resounding through the great empty hall in the "wee sma' hours," so that I awakened Colonel Blake, who was wrapped up in his blanket trying to sleep on the hall floor. The old Colonel gave me a terrific blast from his bugle mouth, which awakened every officer in the house. Some one crawling from under another blanket pointed to General Pleasonton's room, which I entered unceremoniously, glad enough to get any place out of sound of the old Colonel's voice.

I found General Pleasonton, by the aid of the commissary candle I carried for a lantern, lying asleep on an ambulance stretcher. At the head of his couch stood an empty cracker-box, on which was the remnant of his student lamp—about an inch of candle—along side of which were two derringer pistols.

Probably because I was nervous or rattled, by the fuss I had raised in the hall outside, I abruptly awakened the General, at the same moment stooping down to light his candle with mine. The General must have been having a nightmare. The moment I spoke he started up, grabbed for his pistols, and scared me so badly that I dropped the candle on the floor, leaving us in the dark, retreating to the door, as I said: "Don't shoot; it's me." After another "blessing" for my midnight endeavor to deliver a message, I got the matter straightened out.

I was telling General Pleasonton of this incident recently, which he recalled in his usual pleasant manner, though he insists that he never carried a pistol during the entire war.

General Pleasonton was certainly one of the most courteous, gentlemanly General officers in the Army of the Potomac.

It was my privilege and pleasure to be near his person a great deal up to Gettysburg, and I cannot recall a single instance of his using harsh or ungentlemanly language toward his associates. Indeed, the General had more the appearance and manner of a Presbyterian minister than of a dashing cavalryman. During the war, he wore his full beard closely trimmed, going about the camps in his quiet, easy way, like a chaplain.

It was Custer, and Kilpatrick, and Gregg, who possessed the dashing, dare-devil style. Buford, like Pleasonton, was an old Regular, and went about among his troops as if the war was a business that could not be hurried.

I saw General Pleasonton angry one day at a matter that seemed so trifling that all the Staff enjoyed the affair. His servant, or hostler, who took care of his blooded riding horse, had been regularly supplied by the General with a little cash, to be used in keeping a supply of loaf or lump sugar on hand. It was the General's habit before mounting to receive from his hostler a lump of the sugar, which he fed himself to his horse. It is said, you know, that the feeding of a lump of sugar to a horse regularly has an effect similar to love powders, and creates a peculiar attachment of the horse to the feeder of the sugar.

On this occasion, either the contraband had spent the sugar allowance for "commissary," or some one desired to play a trick on the General by substituting some lumps of drugs from the hospital steward's chest for the sugar. The horse found out the deceit and kicked on it, and investigation showed the General that he had been trifled with, and he was very mad about it.

It is probably true that General Pleasonton, as the Chief of Cavalry, will be held responsible for not having obtained information of General Lee's escape from Fredericksburg. I have talked with General Pleasonton as recently as the summer of 1887 on this subject, but his explanation would make an interesting chapter in itself and does not pertain to this narrative of facts.

I hope it may not be considered egotistical in me to observe here that I, as a scout and spy at headquarters, was in no way responsible for the lack of information of Lee's departure. I was not Chief of the Secret Service. I cannot resist the temptation to say right here, in connection with my proposed services with Burnside, that, if he had remained in command, I would have been doing signal duty from Geno's house in Fredericksburg, or from some point in the enemy's lines.

If I had gone over the river, as proposed, and had mixed with the Confederates as a spy, I certainly would have secured information of the movement of two of Lee's corps. I should most assuredly have been able to have signaled this information over the river, and then and there General Hooker would have received the credit for having "so wonderfully divined the enemy's movements and thwarted his purposes." The poor, despised Spy would probably have been hung, and his services never been heard of.

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