There were, to my mind, no signs of a movement among our forces; the two armies were too far apart to be quarrelsome; our headquarters presented an appearance of satisfied security.

In our obscure village there were no telegraphs in those days, the mail facilities being limited to a daily trip of the relic or remnant of the old Bedford stage-coach, which rambled into town on the Monday evening following, and brought us the first intelligence of a battle--and a defeat which was being magnified every mile the old stage traveled into a terrible disaster.

This startling news spread about the village like wild-fire, reached me at the tea-table, and, to my untrained, impulsive disposition, had pretty much such an effect as the lighting the fuse of a sky-rocket. I went off like a sky-rocket--disappeared in the darkness that night, lost to the sight of my friends for months. The rocket hovered over the rebel hosts so long that I was almost forgotten in the excitement of the time.

I came back as suddenly as I had left, like the stick from the rocket that drops down from above.

It is the purpose to tell in this chapter, for the first time, the secret story of those months in Rebeldom, which has remained a mystery even to my family for twenty-five years. I had never intended to print these experiences, but hoped that I might find time, when I should grow older, to prepare for my children only, a memorandum of the trip.

An hour after the receipt of the news, I was _en route_ for the nearest railroad station, at Chambersburg, my first impression being that, as the rebels were victorious, they would, as a matter of course, move right on to Washington City and drive the Union officials off.

Entertaining this feeling, my first impulse was to get somewhere in their rear. I felt in my heart that _something_ must be done to prevent Beauregard and Jeff Davis from driving us all out of the country, and I was frenzied enough at that time, by the excitement that was everywhere prevailing--overcoming the reason and judgment of the most conservative as well as the mercurial temperament--that, if an opportunity had presented itself, I might have been foolish enough to have attempted an assassination of Jeff Davis, sincerely believing, in my youthful enthusiasm and indiscretion, that such an act would serve to defeat their plans. That I entertained seriously and determinedly such a chimerical scheme will probably be surprising to those of my acquaintances now, but the confession will serve in a manner to explain some of my movements, which, at the time, puzzled even my best friends, who generously accounted for my queer actions by the indulgent--if not complimentary--reflection that I was a "reckless and adventuresome boy."

The same night I reached Chambersburg, and the next morning took the first train for Hagerstown, Maryland, where I learned there that Harper's Ferry was headquarters; and, as there were no public conveyances leading in that direction, in my eagerness to reach there I decided to walk ahead the same day.

I tramped out through the same neighborhoods in which our camps had been located only a few days before, finding them nearly all deserted, and in the evening reached a farmhouse on South Mountain, where, tired and sleepy after the fatigue and excitement of the day, I begged for shelter for the night, and was put to sleep in the garret with a son of the farmer, whom I found was in sympathy with the rebels.

Early the following morning I was again on foot, climbing the dusty mountain road. It was a long, tiresome walk, and, as I met with no signs of troops, I began to fear that I had gotten off the right road; toward evening my path led me through a valley or ravine, emerging from which I was suddenly brought into view of the river and hills about Point of Rocks, or perhaps it may have been near Sandy Hook. Here I found plenty of soldiers, who were dotted around the hills so thickly.

I had expected to report in person to General Fitz-John Porter, to gather further from him some advice as to the _reliability_ of his more _recent_ information about Johnston's escape. I learned that General Patterson had been relieved. General N. P. Banks was in command, and had his headquarters in a tent on a little plateau above, but convenient to the railroad track and the river, from which he could look into the Virginia hills, which were within rifle-shot of his tent.

I had no letter of introduction to General Banks, but, presuming upon my previous services, boldly ventured into his presence unannounced, except by the unarmed soldier who stood as an orderly outside of his tent.

I was invited into the tent, where I found the General had been lounging or dozing on his camp bed. Rising, as I entered, he apologized for the unkempt appearance of his quarters, shaking hands cordially as he invited me to a seat on a camp-stool.

Then sitting in front of me, looking straight into my eyes, I told him briefly my past experience with Patterson and Porter. He listened attentively and commented, in his affable way, on the disaster, and expressed, in a way that was most comforting to me, his belief that it would all end right anyway.

I explained to General Banks my supposed qualifications as a scout, being able to read the enemy's telegraphs, which immediately impressed him as quite an important feature, as it would enable me to procure reliable news from the highest sources of all information.

I again volunteered to enter the enemy's lines in the guise of a Maryland refugee and, if possible, attach myself to headquarters of Rebels at Manassas, or where there were telegraph instruments, without, of course, disclosing my knowledge of the mysterious art.

The General thankfully accepted my proposal, and seemed eager that the service should be undertaken at once. His words to me, uttered in that deep but pleasant voice so familiar to American people: "Well, now, I am right glad you have come to see me, sir."

After a moment's reflection, he continued: "I have no definite instructions now. I beg that you will be kind enough to come and see me in the morning again; in the meantime I will try and arrange a plan."

I presume the General desired--very properly--to make some inquiries as to my loyalty and past service. As I prepared to leave, he again took my hand, and in a kindly manner, which impressed me so pleasantly that I shall never forget it, as he bowed me out of his tent. "I am very glad too have met you, sir."

How different from the reception I received from General Patterson and his Chief-of-Staff. The balance of the evening I put in pleasantly enough after this agreeable reception in visiting the different camps in the neighborhood and in peering through the twilight over the Potomac toward the Virginia side, endeavoring to find a hole somewhere in the hills that I might get through safely.

After the tiresome tramp on the dusty Maryland Pike, on that terrible hot July day, I was glad enough when night came to accept the supper and lodging that were offered--for a consideration--in an old half-stone and half-frame house, situated close by the river bank.

The crowd of men who were gathered about the old house were dressing for dinner, or supper, out in the yard; using an old stump for a toilet stand and the lye soap (which had been manufactured by some sort of process through the barrel of ashes that stood on a sloping bench close by), and, throwing my hat and coat on the limb of a gooseberry bush, I plunged into the water, like the rest; but I reckon they all thought I was putting on airs when I declined to use the one towel that had served for all, using instead a dirty pocket handkerchief on my face.

The next morning I was out bright and early. Unfortunately for me, but perhaps better for the story, I was just too late to see the General, who had ridden off but a few minutes before I reached his headquarters on a general tour of inspection through the army. The orderly did not know when he would return, or, if he did, was not disposed to tell a stranger of his intentions; but, it was intimated that I should hardly be able to see him at headquarters again during the day.

As I turned to walk away, undecided as to the next step I should have to take, an officer observed in a jocular way: "You might see the General up there," as he pointed to the highest peak of the hill. He imagined that the unforbidding appearance of this height would deter me from an attempt at climbing it, but the hint was sufficient. I at once made up my mind, excelsior like, to crawl over the rocks and blackberry bushes to the very top of the mountain to find the General, and, if he were not there, I should at least have the satisfaction of being able to see all over the country without walking any further.

From the top of Maryland heights, while sitting alone a short distance in the rear of one of our masked batteries, the guns of which were pointed over the river so as to cover the broad plateau above the old town, I looked in vain for some appearance of rebels on the other side of the river. There was not to my eye, which I flattered myself was pretty good and educated to the sight of rebels, any appearance of life, either on the valley side or on the opposite mountain, which were quite heavily wooded.

I formed from that point of observation a plan to cross the river and climb up on the other hill or mountain, thinking, perhaps, I might have a more satisfactory outlook from that point.

Not finding the General, I retraced my steps down the mountain in the direction of the town of Harper's Ferry.

There was at that time a temporary railroad bridge over the Potomac, over which I was able to pass the guard on pretence of being a railroader. Once in the village, I looked about for an opportunity to get over the Shenandoah river, which was yet between me and the big hill I desired to climb.

I had fully determined in my own mind, after the experience with the running mate or companion of the former adventure, that I should not attach myself to anyone or permit any association in future movements, but the pleasure of meeting with a pleasant friend overcame my resolution, and about the first thing I did after becoming well acquainted was to propose that we should together go over the Shenandoah and climb that big hill, to try if we couldn't "see something" by daylight. My newly found chum eagerly assented to the proposal, and, as I have previously said, for me to decide was to act, in those days.

It was expected that we should be able to return before dark, and I hoped in an indefinite way that I might be able to bring back to General Banks, when I should see him in the evening, some information that would impress him with the idea that I was competent to undertake and to carry out the plan of going through our own and the enemy's lines to Washington.

In my first talk with General Banks, to whom I was an entire stranger, he had made a remark about a decision to issue no authority to go outside of his lines, to which I had replied that I did not ask any passes; that, if he wanted to avail himself of the service, I should be able to get outside ours and inside the Rebels' lines, and did not want to carry any paper passes.

My chum and I followed the same tactics in crossing the Shenandoah that we had practiced in crossing the Potomac on the former occasion. With an apparent intention of bathing we found a good place to "go in," as we boys used to say about swimming time; undressing in a careless way, we were soon splashing about in the shallow water in sight of our pickets.

It was a hot, sunny July day, and at our bathing place the sun poured down upon that portion of our bare skin that was exposed above the water his fiercest rays. This fact served as a pretext to ask the guard's permission to cross over to the shade on the other side. The permission was reluctantly obtained.

Bundling up our clothes we waded over the slippery rocks, in sight of our picket on the shore. Once well over the river, which is neither deep nor wide, we puttered about the other shore long enough to allow any one who had felt disposed to watch our movements to become satisfied that we were only out for a little fun. During all this time, however, we had slowly, almost imperceptibly, moved further and further away; and, upon reaching a portion of the bank almost covered with willows and undergrowth, we silently stole away from the water, and, like a pair of guilty boys escaping from an orchard, we ran as fast as possible through the undergrowth along the side of a road which led up a little stream that emptied into the river.

We were again in Virginia, but this time in daylight; and, hastily putting on our clothes, I, for the first time, took note of the unfortunate circumstance that my comrade's clothes were all of the regulation blue of the Union army, which would be difficult to reconcile with our stereotyped story of being Maryland refugees, in case we should be captured.

We satisfied our fears on this point by the hasty conceit that we were not going to be caught on this trip, as we only proposed to climb to the top of the big hill.

Ascending Bolivar or London Heights is like climbing up the others, and has been well described. When we reached the summit, we found a clearing of a couple of acres which had the appearance of having been very recently occupied, and the discovery of the ashes and blackened places on the rocks where camp-fires had been--we knew not how recently--burning served to make us the least bit nervous. We were disappointed in the expected view of the rebel armies, as the heavy growth of trees in that direction wholly obstructed the view; but we were rewarded with a most satisfactory observation of our own troops and camps on the Maryland side of the river.

Satisfied with having scaled the mountain, and a little bit uneasy, we soon began our descent, taking a different course from that we had followed in coming up.

When we had about reached the road that leads along the water at the base of the heights, my chum startled me by grabbing frantically at my leg as I was about to climb over the fence into the road, shrieking, like a scared girl: "There's a man." And before I had time to look in the direction indicated, he continued, excitedly: "Great Scott! there's a whole lot of them."

He started to run back as fast as his legs would carry him, leaving me almost pinned to the fence with astonishment.

His movement had the immediate effect of causing a half-dozen armed men to rush suddenly from their ambush, straight down the road toward us.

My companion, in grabbing me by the leg as a fierce dog would a tramp getting over the fence, for the moment so startled me that I lost my head, and, thinking something was coming at us from behind, I jumped over the fence toward the danger while he ran off on the other side.

[Illustration: "THANK GOD, I'M SAFE AMONG MY FRIENDS."]

On finding myself confronted by three Rebels in uniform, two of whom had guns, the third, being an officer, gesticulated in a threatening, inelegant sort of style with the hand in which he carelessly held a cocked revolver; I at once walked toward them and, with a suddenly assumed air of relief, said:

"Thank God, I am safe among my friends."

This vehement observation rather nonplussed the officer, who, seeing that I was unarmed, walked up to me and accepted my outstretched hand in a dazed sort of way. He hurriedly directed the men to follow my entreating comrade, saying, as they ran down the road:

"Remember, now, you are not to fire unless you meet a lot."

I was rejoiced to hear this, and at once told the officer that my comrade, like myself, had intended to come into their army, but he was scared and ran because he thought they were our own scouts.

"Are you both Yankee soldiers?"

I repulsed the base insinuation with scorn, and told him we were both dying to join the Rebel Army.

"But that fellow has on the blue uniform."