Returning to the Secretary's office for some written authority to present to General Patterson, we were directed by Mr. Cameron to one of the clerks, who, after a short private conversation between Mr. Covode and Mr. Cameron, was authorized to prepare a note of introduction. As he handed the official envelope to me, he took occasion to observe, in a very pleasant way:

"I would suggest that this young man should not permit any persons to become acquainted with his business; the department prefers to hear from their special agents in confidence, and _not through the newspapers_."

This hint given in this pleasant manner, I did not forget in following months or years.

To my friend and tutelar saint, Mr. Covode, I again expressed my doubts about any secret service, after returning from our brief interview with Mr. Secretary-of-War Cameron and the official at Army Headquarters. Mr.

Covode apparently agreed with my conclusions, saying, as he reached for the official-looking letter which the War Department clerk had given me, and that I hesitatingly held in my hand: "Lets see that letter."

Putting on his old-fashioned round-eyed spectacles, he read half aloud, in his deliberate way, as if studying out some hidden meaning:

"This will introduce to you Mr. O. K., a young man who has gained some personal knowledge of the plans of the Rebels, and who, I hope, may be of service to you in the same direction, etc.

(Signed), "SIMON CAMERON, _Secretary of War_."

He read it over a second time, and then looking at me, as if he had suddenly solved a problem said: "Didn't he tell you to report _direct_ to the War Department?"

"Yes," I remembered that I was advised to report to the War Department first and not to the newspapers.

"Well," says Mr. Covode, "that's all right; you go up there and find Patterson and present that letter, and he will give you authority to go wherever you please, and you let us know here what's going on."

When I left the old man, I ventured a word as to my prospects for a commission in the regular army, to which he gave the usual answer: "Oh, that's all right," and added--

"Come and see me to-morrow and I'll give you some more letters to some friends in Patterson's army."

After a restless night, I was early at Mr. Covode's room receiving a pleasant good-morning. He said in a confidential whisper, but which was loud enough for any person to have heard had we not been alone in the room:

"I saw some of those people last night, and it is all right." That wasn't very great encouragement to be sure, but, he added with a significant wink, "You go up there at once and find out all you can, and report _to me_ what's going on, particularly if there are any Rebels going to attack Patterson's army," and he added, again with emphasis, "Report to me here, quick as you can."

"Yes, but this letter is to report to General Patterson."

"That's all right; you are to report direct to the War Department, too."

I began to feel considerably mixed up by these contradictory instructions, but all the satisfaction I could get from Mr. C.

was--"That's all right," to which he added, as I was leaving, "You tell me all you can find out, and I'll make it all right at the War Department."

As this letter had been prepared and signed by a clerk in the War Department, the penmanship was, of course, in the regulation copper-plate style, wholly unlike the former endorsement that I had received in Mr. Cameron's own handwriting.

Though Patterson's army was in the neighborhood of Harper's Ferry and Williamsport, Maryland, about fifty miles distant in a direct route from Washington, I concluded that, with such a recommendation in my possession, the furthest way round might be the nearest way home; I would not risk the capture of that note by taking a short cut, so I made a safe detour, going due north to Baltimore and Harrisburg, Pa., distant over a hundred miles; thence I came back southwest through the beautiful Cumberland Valley to Chambersburg and Hagerstown, about seventy-five or eighty miles more ground.

Here I was almost literally dumped from the car into the midst of General Patterson's army--a lively host of the gallant and patriotic boys who had rushed to arms at the first call of President Lincoln for the three-months men.

There have been books upon books published giving the history of this campaign, any one of which probably contains a more satisfactory description of the camp-life of those days than I would be able to give here. This effort is necessarily a personal, and, to some extent a private history only, of the campaigns of an individual scout, but I may be indulged in the hope that some of the old boys, who will take the trouble to follow me in these wanderings, may have been among those who were in camp near Hagerstown along in June and July, 1861. With what tenacity the mind clings to the remembrance of those early days of the great war.

I recall, as if it were but yesterday, this first hunt through the different camps for "Headquarters."

Jolly soldiers were to be found everywhere, either walking about the roads in hilarious squads, or assembled in groups under the shade of trees by the roadside, or perhaps crowding the porches and occupying all the chairs in the neighboring houses. In after years, when provost-marshals and camp-guards were established, the sky-larking was not so common, and the crowds, then, were usually to be seen only around some spring or well of water.

I recall now with amusement how ignorant some of the three-month boys of '61 were about their own army-headquarters. Many to whom I applied for information about the location of headquarters, referred me severally, to their own colonels, while one young officer, I remember, pointed to a mounted officer just riding past as the "General's Assistant."

I tramped through miles of dust that hot afternoon before I could get onto General Patterson's track, and, when I finally discovered headquarters, I learned that the General with some of his aides were attending a dinner-party in the town and could not be seen before the next day.

I did not deliver my letter of introduction to the officer, who I thought at the time rather impudently demanded to know my business with the General, but merely told him that I should call again to see the General.

Having tried to perform a duty, and attended to business first, I set about enjoying the holiday which it seemed to me the boys were having all around. How like a circus it all seemed; some of the scenes then enacted might be compared to that of a country fair, at which there was being held, as an additional attraction to the country people, a militia muster or a prize drill, such as we see now when the State troops assemble one week in summer for their annual camp and drill. There was so much free and easy mixture of civilians and ladies with the soldiers--especially the officers--all were being constantly stirred up by the bands, that seemed to break forth in melody from every grove.

There was, of course, the dust on the roads; the processions of thirsty crowds to and from the springs or wells; it all seems now like an immense picnic. Dear me, what bass drums there were in General Patterson's army; wasn't there one to each company? The old-fashioned bass drum, too, as big as a barn door, and noisy in proportion, and to which was usually assigned the biggest fellow in the company the duty of beating on both sides.

A Rebel officer once told me that they were able to estimate the strength of McDowell's army before Manassas by the beating of bass drums at parades each evening.

Along about sundown the usual preparations were made in all the camps for the dress parade--the great feature of the day--which was being witnessed by hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of ladies, old men, and children, who would drive out from the town and surrounding country for miles to witness it, to the delight of the soldiers. What a beautiful sight, in June, 1861, was a full regiment of 1,000 freshly-uniformed, healthy, fresh men in line on dress parade, with their gayly-attired officers (staff and line), going through the "retreat" with fine musical accompaniment. How smart the adjutant was, and what a tremendous fellow the drum-major! On Sunday evenings, at this parade, the chaplain took a hand in the drill, making a prayer, while the long line of the full regiment stood at "parade rest," uncovered, with heads bowed, their little fatigue caps being placed on the muzzle of the gun; the band played "Old Hundred," and perhaps a chorus of a thousand male voices sung the soul-thrilling melody of the grand old tune, which is sung in Heaven. So it was in front of Hagerstown in June or July, 1861.

It was the fortune of war for me to be with the Army of the Potomac again before Hagerstown in July, 1863--a week after the battle of Gettysburg. But--ah, yes--the conditions were sadly changed; scarcely a brigade of that army could muster then as many men as were in each regiment in 1861. There were no visitors in camp; not a lady was to be seen, except, perhaps, the hospital attendants, and the music was confined to the tiresome routine of the "Reveille," "Tattoo" and "Taps."

My first day in General Patterson's army was so full of new and soul-stirring sensations, as compared with the same experiences in the rebel lines, that I was all in a ferment, and forgot about being tired, hungry and worn out, until the evening parades were all over, and the soldiers began to prepare their camp suppers.

While trudging wearily back to the town, some miles distant, to find some supper and a bed, I had the opportunity to reflect seriously in my own mind over the work that I had undertaken.

I wondered to myself if there were not Rebel spies in our army there. It occurred to me at once that there were no obstacles for them to overcome--the entire camp was free; everybody was welcomed indiscriminately to the camp by the good-hearted soldiers; and officers were only too eager to talk with every caller about all they knew of the plans and strength of their own army. This, notwithstanding we were then encamped in Maryland, among a people who, if not openly hostile to our cause, were generally in sympathy with the secessionists, whose army was within fighting distance and communication with their headquarters was only a question of an hour or so.

Our officers and soldiers had certainly taken Hagerstown, Md., as I found to my disgust when I reached the hotel after dark, finding every bed and every corner of the old tavern was literally in possessions of our forces, though, through the kindly interest of a citizen, I was luckily provided with half a bed in a private house. Of course I slept well, except that I was disturbed by a horrid nightmare. I had somehow been transformed into a big brass drum, which a brawny fellow insisted upon pounding upon my stomach, which probably hadn't succeeded in digesting the cold supper.

The first thing next morning was to try and find General Patterson. My experience of the previous day enabled me to steer in a straight course this time, so I was not long in getting to headquarters; but seeing General Patterson was not such an easy matter. His staff officers volunteered to attend to business for their General, but I wouldn't, of course, allow _any_ person to learn the character of my business. It was only after I had written a note, stating that I had a letter from the Secretary of War which I desired to present personally, that I was permitted to approach the Commander.

I need not describe the old Philadelphia militia General. He had, as is well-known, achieved some distinction during the Mexican War, and since that had enjoyed a life of leisure in his native city, where he had, by means of his wealth and accomplishments, become connected with the aristocratic families of the Quaker City. He was, besides, a patron of the military and the clubs; and being so favorably endorsed by prominent people of the state, he was selected to command the troops of Pennsylvania, then operating against General Joe Johnston of the rebel army.

After some further delay, I was admitted to the presence of the old general, who, I imagined, was surprised at my youthful appearance and wondered that I had the temerity to beard such a grim old soldier as himself in his den.

There were several other officers present, and also two gentlemen in civilian's dress, one of whom was quite an elderly-looking gentleman while his companion was a young fellow, whose appearance struck me at once as being that of a Southerner. While General Patterson read my note of introduction from the Secretary of War, I embraced the opportunity to more closely observe the visitors, who were being entertained so pleasantly by the officers.

I quickly gathered from the conversation that the elderly gentleman was applying to our officers for some protection from our own soldiers, for his property. He probably owned some cherry trees in the neighborhood of the camp, or, perhaps, it may have been that the soldiers insisted on using some of the water from an overflowing spring somewhere on his ground. Whatever it was, he was receiving from the staff officers quite emphatic assurances that he should receive all the protection he wanted, and, moreover, the men guilty of trespassing on his ground should be severely punished. The young fellow whom I assumed to be the son had nothing to say.

After General Patterson had finished reading the note, he turned, and, after looking me all over, through his glasses, as if I was some kind of a curiosity who stood meekly and innocently before him, said: "Why, take a seat." Then, turning to one of his aides, he said something in an undertone as he handed him the letter. The aide, after reading it carefully, stepped up to me and pleasantly but coolly invited me outside, when he said: "The General requests that you will come to his quarters this evening."

This wasn't exactly satisfactory to me, but I was glad enough to get from the presence of the General's visitors, because I was apprehensive that something might be said in their hearing that would identify me as a scout.

My visit to General Patterson occurred about the time that General Joe Johnston was manoeuvering in his front, with the object of getting away from him to reinforce Beauregard at Manassas, in anticipation of the impending battle there. Our Washington officials were uneasy as to the outcome of this movement, and had been almost daily urging General Patterson to make some demonstration in front of Johnston that would prevent his leaving for Manassas.

Though I did not know it at the time, I have since learned that the War Department, at Washington, while they would not employ scouts themselves over the head of the Commander of the department, yet were willing enough to avail themselves of the information of the scout who could make his reports in an unofficial manner, through Mr. Covode, without compromising the courtesy or etiquette of the War Office.

The whole country seemed to be alive with soldiers, all in a jolly good humor, nicely dressed, well fed. Their camps were models of tent life.

There did not seem to me to be any preparation whatever for marching to meet the enemy.

There was an immense amount of talk about what they intended to do.

General Patterson's army did move, of course; but--Well, to go on with my story: I was most anxious to do something great myself, being so filled with military ardor by the bass drums; perhaps the probability of the war being closed before I should have the pleasure of participating in a real fight with guns, was more constantly before my mind than any other danger.

It seemed a long wait until evening, when I could again see General Patterson, and unfold to him a plan I had formulated, to go inside the Rebel lines that very night, and before morning find out, from a visit to General Johnston's army, what he was likely to do. In my youthful ardor I hoped I could return to General Patterson before breakfast time, that he might have the fight that same day before dinner.

These were the wild feelings that were swelling in my breast when I approached headquarters to meet General Patterson's appointment. I walked boldly up to a group of officers who were loafing around headquarters; a sentry challenged me; nothing daunted, I pointed to one of the group--the same officer who had directed me to call--and asked to see him.