I did not relish the idea of going into General Beauregard's presence in this old Colonel's charge, lest he might, in trying to magnify his own importance, so represent my capture as to create in the minds of the officers at headquarters a suspicion or doubt as to my motive.

The young officer was convinced that I was O. K., and to him I privately expressed the wish that he would not report me an unwilling prisoner, or that I had tried to escape, assuring him that if such had been my intention I could easily have accomplished it. He agreed with me, and, at my further request, actually gave me, privately, a little note to present in my own defense, if I should need it.

So it came about that I shared the hospitality of the Virginia gentleman's buggy, as we drove along the road that evening _en route_ to General Beauregard's headquarters with a pleasant note of introduction from a Rebel officer in my pocket, in which was recited his belief that I had voluntarily entered the lines as a refugee.

We spent the night in that vicinity, at some neighbor's farmhouse.

When the old gentleman and I were again alone on the road, I began to work on his patriotism a little, but it was not exactly a success. His manner was not congenial at all. He had with him a fine English repeating rifle, which he placed between us, with the butt resting on the floor of the buggy, and, as we drove along that day, I had it in my mind for the first time in my life to commit a murder.

As we were slowly ascending one of the mountains, I remarked to the Colonel that I believed I'd walk up the mountain, stretch my legs, and relieve the horse for awhile, when he glanced at me and, with a hateful, overbearing sneer on his face, said:

"You wont get out of this buggy until I put you into General Beauregard's hands."

I felt a wicked sensation dart through me that I had never before experienced, and instinctively my own eyes rested on the gun; the Colonel saw my face, and reached for his gun not a moment too soon; my self-possession came to me, and I merely said:

"You're not driving a nigger now."

I still had my loaded pistol concealed in a belt under my clothes. I had acquired while in Texas the Southern accomplishment of learning its use, and was expert and quick enough to have put its contents in the blatant old fool's ear, and would probably have done so had I not been restrained by the fear that the report would bring about us a crowd of Rebels.

For an hour after this incident we drove along in sullen silence. I felt in my soul that I was being driven like a condemned criminal to the gallows, and this old Colonel was merely my hangman, whom I ought to shoot like a rat.

After cool reflection I concluded that, with the officer's note in my possession, I would be able to counteract any unfavorable impressions he might try to make. I had not attempted to commit any act in Virginia that he could prove which would operate against me. The only matter I had to fear was the discovery of my identity as the person who had played the spy in Florida; but as that was many hundred miles away, I felt that I was comparatively safe.

Beside this, I wanted most earnestly to see General Beauregard myself, and to visit his army at Manassas, and pretended that I was glad to have the use of the old man's buggy, instead of having to trudge along on foot.

The approach to the outskirts of the Rebel army was evident from the frequent appearance of men in gray clothes, who were apparently straggling along the road bound to their homes. A great many of them seemed to have formed the conclusion that, having whipped the Yankees at Bull Run, the war was over, or, if it wasn't, it ought to be, and they could return to their homes in peace, at least until wanted again.

At certain points along the highway, such as bridges, toll-gates and cross-roads, we were halted by guards, who, like the stragglers, were quite communicative to our Colonel, and were of the general opinion that there was no longer any necessity for any particular stringency in enforcing orders, as the war would soon be over; we were, in consequence, permitted to drive ahead without delay.

My old Colonel had taken occasion at several points to call attention to his "prisoner" in a patronizing way. I was pleased and encouraged to note that the air of importance with which the old man attempted to surround himself did not evoke the laudation that he expected.

As we drove up to a house by the roadside to water the horse, I mildly suggested that I should like an opportunity to wash some of the dust and perspiration from my face and brush up a little before being presented to the General. My guardian angel, probably thinking it would serve his purpose better to show me up in as unfavorable an appearance as possible, bluntly refused to accord me this privilege, saying, as he drove off:

"I'm in a hurry to get there, as I don't want to have you on my hands all night."

We were now close to the railroad tracks, along side of which were numerous camps, or those that had been abandoned for more comfortable location out toward the front. I need not tell old soldiers how uncomfortable and desolate the rear or outskirts of an army are, especially in the miserable country about Manassas.

The roads were crowded with all sorts of vehicles, from artillery and ammunition wagons, driven by colored boys and guarded by frisky black-horse cavalrymen, to the two-wheeled carts run by decrepit old colored people who were peddling "truck" for the benefit of their Virginia-Yankee owners, whom, by the way, the real Southern people from the South said at that time were worse than any other sort of Yankee.

Of course the road was dusty--Virginia roads are either dusty or muddy, and, being so much crowded, our progress became a little slow. As we drove along through that Rebel army that evening, I am sure there was not a face in all the crowd that I did not eagerly scan, in nervous anticipation of meeting some one who might recognize me. When the old man was told we were off the road to headquarters, I felt as much annoyed as himself at the delay in reaching General Beauregard's headquarters.

I observed particularly an entire absence of anything that looked like preparations for an advance. Of this I became more satisfied the further on we got, both from the appearance of men traveling to the rear and from the careless appearance of the troops toward the front.

Artillery was parked in shady places; the horses were not corralled close to the guns; in fact, everything was very much in the same disordered condition that I had observed in our army.

About an hour before sundown we reached Beauregard's headquarters. As we drove up to the fence the old man hailed a colored boy, and bade him tie his horse; then, turning to me with a smile of relief, he said:

"Here we are; get out!"

I obeyed with an alacrity that caused him to stare at me in wonder, as he stretched his sleepy legs and got out after me, walking beside me with his gun in hand until suddenly halted by a sentry on guard, to whom my Virginian said:

"I want to see General Beauregard," and proceeded to walk ahead, as if he was a privileged character, but the sentry called down the old fool's dignity by peremptorily ordering him to "halt," as he brought his gun to a carry. There were some sharp words spoken, but the guard understood his business, and gave the old man his first lesson in military etiquette, that no doubt lasted for all the war. An officer near by, who had been attracted by the slight rumpus, approached the sentry, who properly saluted him, and, in answer to the officer's questions, began to give an account of the trouble, but had barely begun to speak when the old farmer, swelling like a turkey-gobbler, ignoring the soldier, and endeavoring to talk over the head of the officer, in a loud voice said: "I want to see General Beauregard _at once_, and I'll have this fellow punished for insulting a gentleman."

The officer, who was a gentleman, mildly suggested that the man had been only doing his duty and obeying orders, but my friend's choler was up and, refusing all explanations, demanded an immediate interview with the General.

The officer now began to get mad and, in a commanding tone, inquired: "What is your business, sir, with the General?" to which the old gentleman replied: "I will explain my business when I see the General."

"Well, sir, you will have to give me your name and the nature of your business, and I will advise you as to the General's pleasure."

"My name, sir, is Colonel ----, of Virginia, by gad; and my business is to turn over a prisoner whom we caught prowling in our county, sir; there he stands, right there, sir."

Turning to look at me, the officer said to the Colonel: "Well, you should escort your prisoner to the provost-marshal. General Beauregard is not entertaining prisoners."

After a few more passages at arms it was settled that I should be left in charge of the guard while the _Colonel_ and the _General_ had an interview.

While he was telling _his_ story to General Beauregard, which, I suspect, referred more to the "insult" to himself than to my dangerous character, the officer, who had returned to me, politely said something about "old fools." I agreed with him, and took occasion to add my mite of experience with the old fool, and saying that I had merely come from a patriotic impulse from my own home to do something for _the country_, but had been treated with so much indignity by this old man I was sorry I had left home.

In his state of mind my interpretation of the story had a most agreeable effect, which was further strengthened by the note from the officer who had captured me. As soon as he read this, turning to me, he politely asked to be excused, as he returned to the General who was being bored to death by my Colonel.

In a moment more General Beauregard and my Colonel made an appearance, the latter still talking earnestly. The General was bare-headed, his coat unbuttoned, and presented to my vision the appearance of a pleasant Jewish gentleman. He looked at me while the old gas-bag was exhausting itself, but did not speak a word either to me or the Colonel until my young officer spoke up and said:

"I think, General, I had better relieve this gentleman of the responsibility of the care of the young Marylander," at the same time handing to the General the note I had given him.

General Beauregard again looked at me as he finished reading it, and, turning to the officer, said:

"Yes, yes, that will do."

And bidding the Colonel a good evening, as he excused himself, walked off.

It must not be thought that the Virginia Colonel believed, or for an instant suspected my true character; _his_ only object was to secure some attention for himself by pressing me upon the General personally; and his own egotism defeated his purpose, to my very great relief.

The Colonel being thus summarily disposed of, the officer, who introduced himself to me as an aide to General Beauregard, began to apologize for my ungracious reception in the Southern Army.

I told him my desire was to connect myself with some of the Baltimore refugees, and I was informed that I should have the opportunity soon; but at that time I think there were no distinct Maryland organizations in their Army. When I suggested that, as I was without money, I must work to earn a living, I meekly observed that being a railroader at home I should like an opportunity to be employed somewhere in that capacity, as I should be able to do justice to myself and my employers better there than elsewhere until I could be able to unite with the army.

"Just the thing; we need experienced men on the roads here now as much as we require soldiers," and, turning to an orderly, he directed him to accompany me to a certain official who had charge of the railroad transportation with the _request from General Beauregard that his services be availed_ of, as he is an experienced railroad man.

It was after dark when I became finally located, and, singular as it may seem, I was that night an occupant of a couch in the railroad depot, _within sound of the telegraph instruments operating between Manassas and Richmond_, and this by _express_ authority of _General Beauregard_, instead of being a prisoner in a guard-house waiting for execution.

I have been careful to give all the details of this day at perhaps tedious length, not that it was interesting, but because of the bearing on the subsequent events, which I believe are as remarkable as anything yet recorded in the secret service of the war.

CHAPTER XI.

IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS INTERCEPTED AT MANASSAS, WHICH ESTABLISHED THE FACT THAT THE REBEL ARMY HAD NO INTENTION, AND WERE NOT ABLE TO ADVANCE AFTER MANASSAS--THE REBEL ARMY DEMORALIZED BY SUCCESS, AND TWENTY-FIVE PER CENT. ABSENT FROM EPIDEMIC--ON THE FIELD AFTER THE BATTLE--OBSERVATION INSIDE REBEL CAMPS--TALKING WITH RICHMOND BY WIRE--CAPTURED BY REBEL PICKET IN SIGHT OF THE SIGNAL LIGHTS AT GEORGETOWN COLLEGE.