Alone, except for baby George, for the first time in all my seventeen years! Perhaps no timid little waif thrown out upon the deep sea of life ever felt more utterly desolate.

I stepped on board the Baltimore steamer and was piloted into the saloon by a porter whose manner showed that he was perfectly cognizant of my ignorance and inexperience. In the midst of my loneliness and the consciousness of my awkwardness and my real sorrows, sympathy for myself revived my old-time compassion for poor David Copperfield, whom Steerforth's servant had caused to feel so "young and green."

So little did I know of traveling and the modes and manners of travelers, that I sent for the captain of the steamer to buy my ticket and arrange for my stateroom and supper.

I had been warned on leaving my home that the slightest imprudence or careless word from me might cause my arrest, and that if it were known who I was it was more than possible that I might be held as hostage for my husband. After consideration it had been decided that I should travel under my maiden name. My train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of a bell and a loud voice shouting:

"Passengers will please walk into the custom-house office and show their passports!"

The laws were so strict that no one could leave any city in the South without a passport from the military authorities. My grandmother had given me her "oath of allegiance," which everybody in those dread days immediately after the surrender of the army was compelled to take in order to purchase medicine, food or clothing of any kind, or for the transaction of any business whatever. It was a rare occurrence that a man was found who would take this iron-clad oath for, no matter how great the exigency might be, he was branded as a traitor if he yielded. So the women, who were most bitter, too, in their feelings, were obliged to make a sacrifice of their convictions and principles, and take this oath in order to alleviate the suffering of their loved ones. Illness in the family and the urgent necessity for quinine and salt left my unselfish little grandmother no alternative, and she found a kind of safety in the oath. It had brought her relief and she wanted that I should have it with me as a "mascot" or safeguard.

With carpet-bag, basket and baby I started into the custom-house office and explained to the officer in charge:

"I am very sorry, sir, that I have no passport. The steamer was about to sail as I reached Norfolk. I came from a little village thirty miles beyond where passports are not given. I have an oath of allegiance, if that will answer in its place."

The officer, laughing, said:

"No; never mind. It is all right; only register your name. I remember you did come on board just as the whistle blew; but was there not another passenger who came on with you—a gentleman?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. "It was my precious father, and he went back home in the little sailboat."

There must have been something to excite suspicion in the way I wrote my name or in my manner. I boldly wrote out my given name and then, as I began to write my last name, I looked all around me, confused, and changed the letter "P" to "C," writing "Corbell." Then I began to erase "Corbell" and write "Phillips," the name in my oath of allegiance. While there was nothing very false in what I did, I felt guilty and was frightened, for I had been brought up to be strictly truthful.

I had not been long in the saloon when baby became restless and fretful. I was impatiently awaiting the coming of the captain, for whom I had sent, when a man appeared. He had short curly hair, deep, heavy eyebrows, eyes sunken and close together as if they had to be focused by his big, hooked nose to enable them to see. He was chewing alternately one end of his crinkly moustache and one side of his thick red lip and was making a sucking noise with his tongue as he said:

"Madam, you sent for the captain of the boat, I believe."

"Yes, sir."

"What do you wish?"

"I want you to be kind enough to get my ticket and stateroom, please," I replied. "My father had only time to put me on board and could not make any arrangements."

"Certainly; with pleasure. You stop in Baltimore long?"

"I don't know," I replied.

"You have been there before, I suppose?"

"Oh, no; never. I have been nowhere outside of Virginia and North Carolina. Most of my traveling before my marriage was in going to and from Lynchburg, where I was at school.

"Once I rode on horseback to the Peaks of Otter, which are among the highest mountains of the South. You can't imagine how glorious it was to be up there so far away from the earth. When I first looked down from their lofty heights the sky and the earth seemed to be touching, and presently the rain began to pour. I could see the glimmering, glittering drops, but could not hear them fall. I was above the clouds and the rain, up in the sunshine and stillness, the only audible sound being a strange flapping of wings as the hawks and buzzards flew by. Suddenly the rain ceased, the haze vanished and I saw below the rugged mountains the level country that looked like a vast ocean in the distance.

"The words of John Randolph echoed in my heart with this infinite mystery of nature. He with only a servant spent the night on those mighty rocks and in the morning as he was watching the glory of the sunrise he pointed upward with his long slender hand and, having no one else to whom to express his thought, charged his servant never from that time to believe anyone who said there was no God.

"'No, sah, Marse John; no sah,' said the awe-stricken servant. 'I ain't gwine to, sah. I ain't gwine to let none of Marse Thomas Didymuses' temptatious bedoutin' tricks cotch no holt of my understands of de Lord.'

"Once, too, I——"

"You have relatives in Baltimore?" said the gentleman, abruptly interrupting me; otherwise, feeling that geography and history were safe subjects, I should have rattled on till I had told him all I knew.

"Yes, sir," I replied. "I am going to visit them."

"Where were you from this morning?"

"I came from a little country village about thirty miles from Norfolk—Chuckatuck, in Nansemond County."

As I was about to launch another tide of historic information upon him he again interrupted me.

"I saw your father as he was leaving the steamer. I was attracted to him because he made an appeal to all Masons, asking of them protection and care for his child and grandchild. He was thus making himself known to any of us, his brothers, who might be aboard when he disappeared at the turn of the boat. So you can safely confide in me, and I will help you in any way possible."

"Thank you," I replied. "I know my dear, dear papa is a Mason, and that he was anxious about me, but there is nothing to confide—nothing. I want only a stateroom and my tickets and some milk for the baby. I do not wish for any supper myself; I am too lonesome to eat. It is wicked to feel blue and downhearted, with baby and all the kind friends to watch over me, as you say; and then God is always near."

"Yes, that is true; but did you lose your husband in the war?"

"No, sir."

"He was in the war, though, was he not?"

"Yes, sir."

A fear came into my heart that I was talking too much. I did not want him to know anything concerning my husband, whose rank it was especially important to keep secret. I encouraged myself with the reflection that the end justified the means, even though a slight deviation from the truth might be involved, and said:

"You could not have heard of him, and he was not of sufficient rank to have made an impression upon you if you had."

"Where is he now?"

"In the country."

"And you are leaving him?"

"Yes, sir, but just for a little while."

Then he talked of how much the Southerners had lost and how much they had to forgive; how easy it was to bear victory and how hard to endure defeat, saying that if he had been born in the South he would have been a rebel, and that his sympathies even now were with the Southern people. A sudden suspicion came to me and I said:

"I wish there had never been any rebels at all; not even the first rebel, George Washington; and now, sir, please, I do not want to talk about the war. I am very weary and sleepy and would like to retire. If you please, sir, will you get me my stateroom and ticket? I am so tired—so very tired."

Baby was lying asleep on my lap, hypnotized by the chandeliers. The man looked down on him for a moment and then said, "Of course, I will get them for you," and was going, when an ex-Confederate officer, one of my Soldier's old comrades and friends, came up and, cordially extending his hand, greeted me:

"How do you do, Mrs. Pickett? Where is the General? What are you doing here, and where are you going?"

He himself was returning to his home in the far South, but had been called back to Baltimore on business.

"Thank you, General," I replied. "My husband has gone to farming and I am on my way to visit his aunt, whom I have never seen. He is to come to us after a little while; could not leave conveniently just now. He is very well, I thank you."

"I am so glad to have met you," he returned. "Will see you later on," and was hobbling away on his crutches. He saw by my manner that he had said something to embarrass me and left with a pained look. He was still dressed in his old Confederate gray, from which the brass buttons had all been cut, in obedience to the order from the custom-house office, and replaced by plain steel. For several moments not a word was spoken. Then I looked up and said:

"My tickets and stateroom, please."

"I thought you said your name was Corbell," he of the hooked nose rejoined as he held my money shaking in his hand. "I thought you said your husband's rank was not sufficient to have made an impression; that in all probability I had never heard of him."

Oh, that smacking sound of jaw and tongue, and that beak of a nose, and those little black eyes which grew into Siamese twins as they glared at me like the eyes of a snake!

"Did I say that?" I asked and, with a face all honesty and truth, I looked straight into those eyes and told, without blushing, without a tremor in my voice, the first deliberate falsehood I had ever told:

"Did I say so? Well, my friends think that my mind has been unbalanced by the way the war has ended and they are sending me from home to new scenes and associations to divert me, with the hope of making me well and strong again. Corbell was my maiden name, but I do not know how I happened to say that my husband's rank was low, for I was so proud of it; I could not have been thinking. Will you please be so good as to get my ticket? I am so tired I don't know what I am saying."

He went away, and the stateroom keys were brought to me by a waitress who unlocked the door for me, and I went in, too frightened now to think of supper, too frightened to sleep, and wondering if, in my imprudence, I had hurt my husband and what would happen if I had.

All night long the noise of the wheel was to me the sound of the executioner's axe. All night long it rose and fell through seas of blood—the heart's blood of valiant men, of devoted women, of innocent little children. Near morning I fell asleep and dreamed that it was I who had destroyed all the world of people whose life-blood surged around me with a maddening roar, and that I was destined to an eternity of remorse.

When I awoke the boat had landed. Dressing hurriedly I went to the door and found that it was locked on the outside. As the chambermaid did not answer my repeated call, I beckoned to a sailor passing my window and asked him to tell her that I was locked in and wished that she would come and let me out. When she came she told me that she was not permitted to open the door. I asked if we were not at Baltimore and an officer who was with the maid answered that we were, but that I was to be detained until the authorities should come and either release or imprison me, as I was supposed to be a suspicious character.

On a slip of paper I wrote—"A Master Mason's wife and daughter in distress demands in their name that you will come to her," and gave it to the chambermaid, asking her to take it to the captain. As she hesitated the officer said, "You might as well."

She went and while I was trying to hush the baby a voice as kind and gentle as the benevolent face into which I looked, said:

"What can I do for you, madam? You sent for me."

"No, sir," I replied, "I sent for the captain of the boat, but I am glad you came; you seem so kind and may help me in my trouble."

"I am the captain of the boat," he answered. "What can I do for you?"

"You are not the gentleman who represented himself as the captain of the boat last night, sir, and bought for me my ticket. He was short and dark——"

The gentleman interrupted me, saying that the pseudo captain was a Federal detective who had advised that I be detained on the steamer until his return with the authorities and warrant.

I told him what the man had said about my father and the Masonic sign.

The captain replied:

"Your father did make that sign and placed you in our care. Come, I am captain of this steamer, and a captain is king in his own boat. Where did you say you wish to go! Stand aside," he said to the officer in charge.

Giving me his arm, he placed me and baby, carpet-bag and basket, in a carriage and the driver was told to go to 97 Brenton Street.

"Yis, sor," said the Irishman. "97 Brinton Strate, sure."

"God bless you and watch over you! Good-bye, little baby."

After driving some time, the Irishman impatiently told me there was no street by that name and I would have to get out, but not until I had paid him for the time he had been hunting for 97 Brenton Street.

I did not know enough to go to a drug store and consult a directory. I was at my wits' end, if I had ever had any wits.

"Drive me back to the captain of the boat, please," I said. "I don't know what else to do."

When I went on board the captain was not yet gone, which was an unusual thing. He had waited to see the officers before leaving. I answered the smile that came into his face, in spite of his kind heart, by handing him the letter of my aunt who wrote a hand that was not only peculiar but illegible.

"Read, captain, and see if this is not Brenton Street, the place to which my aunt has written me I must come."

"'Go to 97 Brenton Street, where my niece, Mrs. C——, will bring you to my house,'" he read. "It might be anything else as well as Brenton," he said. "It looks like Brenton, but I have lived here all my life and have never heard of such a street. I will get my directory and look. No; but it may be Preston; let's look; but there are no C——s living there. You might try this house, at any rate, 97 Preston Street, and if you do not find your friends, come to the number on this card, where my wife and I will be happy to have you as our guest, you and the little lost bird, till you can write to your friends and find out where they want you to come."

Off again I started and arrived at 97 Preston Street. I wrote on my card and sent it in:

"Does Mrs. C—— live here—a niece of Mrs. S——?"

In a moment there were two or three faces at the windows, and in another moment as many voices at the carriage door asking, "Is this George Pickett's wife and child?" and I was thankful to be once more where they knew George Pickett's wife and child.

Besides the lovely people whose home it was, there was with them, on her way to visit her mother, Mrs. General Boggs, one of the most charming women I ever met. She had just returned from the South. Her husband was in the Confederate Army. The next day we both went out to the home of her mother, my Soldier's aunt, Mrs. Symington.