Appointed assistant provost marshal at Fort McHenry, where I began my first experience in detective work—Somewhat a history of my early life—Ordered to execute Gordon by shooting.

I was on duty with troops until detailed as Assistant Provost Marshal at Fort McHenry. The administration of prisoners confined at Fort McHenry had become unsatisfactory; escapes were frequent. Colonel Porter selected Capt. Holmes of the 8th New York Heavy Artillery and myself to reform the prison.

Right here was begun what led up to my ultimately becoming a full-fledged secret service operator. Born in the green foot-hills of the Catskill Mountains (near where Rip Van Winkle dozed), I learned my "A B abs" in the little brown school house at Cornwallville. Father died when I was four years old. Mother traded the farm for some New York tenements, and we all located there, when I was ten years old. I attended the public schools where I was properly "hazed" and got what was "coming" to all country boys; finally I graduated under the tutelage of Dr. Joseph Finch (a patriot indeed, who made a lasting impress for earnestness on thousands of boys), and then went to business as an entry clerk with a large importing metal house, where I remained until the war broke out. You will therefore see I had had no former experience (my age was 22 years) and whatever wit I had for such service was inborn or home-made. Zeal I know I had; perhaps its birth was from a chalk legend some pedagogue had inscribed over the door-frame in the little brown school house, reading: "What man has done, man can do." At any rate I have remembered it.

My education in the burning political questions had been sharply marked by the presidential campaign of 1860. My brothers, A.P. and Burdette, were "Douglas" Democrats. My fellow clerk, Clarence W. Meade (later Judge Meade), was a "Bell and Everett" Democrat. I was a born "Lincoln" Republican. So between the discussions at the house and the office, I was somewhat sharpened. I remember how I struggled against their arguments that Lincoln was an uneducated, uncultured rail-splitter. I knew of his discussions with Douglas, but never did I completely vanquish them until Mr. Lincoln delivered his Gettysburg oration, and "that ball fetched all the pins and knocked a hole through the alley." And it must be noted that I thought myself, somewhat like a Demosthenes, for I had practiced in that little school house on "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" and two verses of "On Linden When the Sun Was Low," much to mother's delight. So equipped, or so not equipped, I began my duties as Assistant Provost Marshal.

Confederate mail carrying, spy promoting, blockade promoting, recruiting for Confederate service, were being engineered right from among these prisoners. I "under-grounded" it all. Through this channel I enlisted for the Confederate service. Of course you know that when I enlisted in the service of our enemies, I did so to discover their actions, and was what most people call a "spy." I had often read the story of Nathan Hale, the splendid patriot of the American Revolution who was a spy in the service of General Washington and who gave up his life to the service. (The Sons of the Revolution of the State of New York have erected a fine monument to him in the New York City Hall Park). Perhaps there would be less danger in being a soldier in the ranks who goes forward with arms in hand and fights openly in battle and dies thus, than to be a spy and constantly in the shadow of death, night and day, and no soldier's death for him, but the death of the hangman's noose; yes, I knew all this.

I worked a blockade running outfit, involving General Morris's adjutant general, Capt. E.W. Andrews (of whom I will tell more later on), and I captured Confederate mail carriers, none of which were any part of my duty, but all contributed to the general good of the service. Strictly speaking, my duties were completed by caring for the safe keeping, discipline and comfort of the prisoners in our charge. To do more was supererogation, and ought to be credited to zeal.

In a short time I found that these Confederates worked their escape through the use of gold supplied them by their sympathizers in bribing the guards. But we stopped that and thereafter the soldiers for sentry duty at certain posts were selected for their known probity. Escapes continued for a time (but they were always recaptured when they supposed themselves safe outside our guards). When these escapes (?) were accomplished there was great jubilation among the Confederates. They had a great "laugh" on the Yankees; which laugh was changed to "the other side of the mouth" when all the escaped (?) ones were marched back into camp, one bright morning. About a mile down the road leading from our exterior gate to Baltimore was a hotel called the "Vineyard." I engaged the upper floors of it in which to domicile my escaped (?) prisoners. When we had accumulated there about fifteen we marched them all back to our prison.

After telling their fellows of the futility of their plans no more escapes were attempted.

The government was kind to prisoners. We clothed them and gave them blankets to keep them comfortable. I have receipted rolls now showing such issues. They came to us in rags or worse than rags, in fact, and left us fat and well clothed. On one occasion when an exchange of prisoners was ordered, I judged that one good suit of clothes was enough to start them off with; but orders came from Washington to allow them to carry away all the clothing given them by their friends, which in some instances was three or four suits to a man. Our prisoners were confined in buildings known as the Ringgold Battery Barracks, quite insecure for the purpose. We constructed about the premises a plank fence twelve feet high, with balcony and sentry boxes on top, leaving no good chance for communication between prisoners and guards.

The first unpleasant duty devolving on me is described in the following order:

A harder duty could not be directed. In cases where execution is by shooting, a firing party is picked, and their rifles are loaded for them. One gun among them is loaded with a blank cartridge, so that each member of the firing party can hope he has it. In case death does not result from the firing it becomes the duty of the officer commanding the firing party to complete the execution of the order. That was not a cheerful prospect for me. I had twenty-four hours for serious contemplation; suppose the men should aim wrong? Then I would be compelled to shoot the man as a mere cold duty. We were spared its execution by the following telegraphic order: