Late in the night, when the only one on duty in the office was the operator with a guard or sentry outside, I lay on the floor of the office affecting sound sleep, but wide-awake. Knowing that it was the last opportunity to get hold of any papers, I became anxious and almost desperate. A long message had been sent to "S. Cooper, Adjutant-General, Richmond," giving a full and detailed account of an epidemic that had apparently broken out in the army. The dispatch was important I knew, from the fact of its being addressed to S. Cooper, who I knew was Adjutant-General for Jeff Davis, and was, I think, signed by Dr.

Cartright. It was quite long; the only part of it which I distinctly remember was the astonishing statement that twenty-five per cent., or one-fourth, of the Rebel Army were sick or unable to do any active duty on account of this epidemic of dysentery or diarrhoea. This was an important admission in an official form, and I decided that it was the message in writing that I must carry with me to Washington. I observed carefully where the operator placed the original copy after it had been sent.

It was his duty to have remained there all night, prepared to receive or send communications that might chance to come, but we all know how soundly the night-owls can sleep while on duty, and I knew, or hoped, that this young fellow would soon take his chance and drop asleep, when I could abstract that Cooper message from his files.

I did not have to wait for him to sleep; he did better than that for me; he went out of the office and left me inside alone, and I, moving vigorously, with one eye watched his every movement; he further favored me by turning all his lights down before leaving. I inferred that his purpose (as all was quiet on the wire) was to go to his bunk and take a regular sleep like a Christian and a white man, and not like a common soldier. I heard his footsteps on the long platform grow fainter and further off, and then the sound disappeared as he jumped onto solid ground. Now was my chance to get that message.

Realizing that it might be my only opportunity, I quickly determined to take the risk of his returning soon and, perchance, missing the message from his file--it being conspicuous because of its bulky appearance. I silently stole up to the desk and slipped the big piece of paper from his hook and put it--not in my pocket, not by a good deal--but I carelessly laid it "aside," where I would be able to reach it, and where the operator could find it if he should return and take a notion to hunt it up.

Pleased with my success, and emboldened by the continued absence of the operator, I thought of looking further for a copy of the message about "Banks" that I had heard come over the wires that afternoon, but abandoned it, remembering that, as it was a received message from Richmond, that probably there was no copy of it retained in the office and the original had been delivered.

Everything seemed to become oppressively as still and quiet as death outside--the office was dark; the instrument only ticked an occasional "call" from "Rd;" but as the operator was not there to answer the "call"

the "Rd" operator no doubt thought him asleep, and with that feeling of fraternity and consideration for which the craft are noted, the man at "Rd" undoubtedly turned in himself. It's probable the feeble call was merely a desire to assure himself that the man at the other end was drowsy and ready to go to sleep. I understood all their little tricks.

I had been there myself often, and, as I lay on that floor, I fully sympathized with the boys.

Feeling that it was to be almost my last hour in the telegraph service of the Rebels at Manassas, I became bold and reckless enough at my success, and the hope of getting away soon, to undertake a very foolish piece of business.

In the darkness, which comes just before daylight (when I should leave), I learned the Cooper message. At the same moment, almost involuntarily, I placed my hand on the "key" of the telegraph instrument and softly called, "Rd-Rd-Rd," several times; there was no answer to my first feeble call. The operator was probably asleep. I was turning away, abandoning the attempt, when I was thrilled through and through by the click of the instrument answering in a slow, sleepy way, "I-I-I," which is the affirmative signal in answer to a call for attention to receive a message. Glaring about wildly in the darkness in search of the voice of the Rebel spectre I had aroused, and who was speaking to me from Richmond, I took hold of the key and said, in nervous haste and desperation:

"What was that message you sent about Banks?"

There was a moment's silence. "Rd" did not seem to comprehend, and made the telegraphic signal for interrogation (?) or repeat. I said more deliberately:

"That message about Banks--is there anything important?"

"Oh, yes; why, you sent the answer to that."

"I forgot it."

"Yes," he answered; that "a Confederate Company could take care of Banks."

"O. K., O. K."

I had just laid down when footsteps were heard advancing toward the office door, and, in another moment, to my great relief, not the operator, but the colored servant or porter, tumbled in for an hour's sleep before it was time to sweep and clean up the office preparatory to the coming day's work. There was no more sleep for me. I was wide-awake to the importance of getting away from there as soon as possible. With the intent of throwing everybody off their guard, or to avoid any suspicion that might possibly attach to my sudden departure, I had made up, and had been careful to tell all the listeners I could get the day previous, that I was going out to Fairfax C. H. to find some friends whom I had understood were in camp there, and I might be away all day and night. Also, that I was tired of civil life about the railroad and anxious to enter the army, and would do so if I found my friends.

I knew that the operator who had been on duty, or supposed to have been on duty that night, would be relieved by the regular day man in the morning, so, of course, the man coming on duty would not be likely to know anything about the night messages, or to miss any messages that he himself had not sent. I therefore took the last opportunity to collect from the files of the office several interesting "documents," which I knew would be valuable souvenirs to show my friends when I should get back to Washington.

Early in the morning I secured a note from the Superintendent requesting a pass through the army for myself, to enable me to look up a friend.

With a few further words of good-by to one or two companions, with whom I had been so singularly associated for a few days, I left the place, with the expectation of being able to reach Washington the same night.

The distance was but twenty miles, I think, to Alexandria. My plan was, during the daytime to travel openly under protection of my pass, in a course leading to the front. From the best outlook that I could reach, I hoped to place myself convenient to some unguarded point, through which I could escape from the Rebels, and in safety reach our own lines under cover of the darkness. It was not a particularly dangerous undertaking at that time, because the Rebels--officers and soldiers--whatever may be said to the contrary, were demoralized, and had become quite careless and almost indifferent to their surroundings.

I was now going into the very heart of the Rebel army. I think that I saw all that was to be seen in a day's scout. They had, what I thought at the time, an awful lot of cannon; and cavalrymen in bright gray uniforms were flying about everywhere, mounted on their own fine horses, and stirring up a dust in such a way as to impress me with the idea that the woods were full of horsemen. The infantry camps were, for the most part, pleasantly located; in fact, everything looked brighter from the midst of the army than it had from its rear; but there was everywhere present--along the roads, or in the yards of convenient houses--the same groups of sick-looking soldiers and officers, who were probably awaiting their turn to get home to die.

There were numerous fortifications, earthworks and masked batteries to be seen, and when I got on to the battlefield of Bull Run what a disgusting smell filled the air; the very atmosphere seemed to be thick and heavy with the odor of half-buried and half-burned horses and mules, the bones of which were to be seen in many places covered with carrion crows, which would fly off making their ugly noises as they hovered about in a way to make the heart sick. You all know how we used to "bury" the dead artillery and cavalry horses, by simply piling a few fence-rails over the bodies and then setting fire to the pile, and then ride off and leave the coals of the fire baking the carcass. Whew! the smell of those half-burned old horses sticks in my nostrils even after twenty-five years.

I have not much to say of the many poor fellows whose toes were to be seen above ground; and now and then a piece of blue cloth showed through the thin covering of earth, and one hand laid above the grave, from which the fingers had been actually rotted or eaten off. It's an ugly subject to write or think about now, and I dismiss it from my mind with the same feeling of disgust and sickness that I experienced that day I walked along the fields and fences in August, 1861. Under the pretence of looking for a sick comrade, whom I pretended might have died at one of the hospitals or private houses in that direction, I moved about unmolested. There were plenty of civilian visitors beside myself, who were readily granted the privilege of going over the battlefield; their army friends were glad of an opportunity to escort them, so it was not thought at all out of the way for me to be prowling about there alone in search of a sick or perhaps a dead friend. In this way I got beyond the battlefield without any trouble, and along the railroad toward the station from which a road leads up to Fairfax Court House. Here I began to encounter some difficulties in the way of guards and sentries which were placed about the railroad bridges and at the cross-roads. Their purpose was, as a general thing, I imagined, to prevent their own soldiers from roaming or straggling about too much.

I knew that the railroad track would lead me in the most direct route to Alexandria, and soon to our army on that line; but I understood, also, that it would be more carefully patrolled and guarded than were the country roads; and for this reason I preferred the woods in which to make my final dash for liberty, and the Union, and home.

The critical moments in a scout's experience come just at this point--after successfully passing beyond one line and _before_ reaching the other; then occurs the time when capture means his sure detection, either as a deserter or a spy, with its terrible punishment; and it is extremely difficult to tell from appearances whether those you meet or see are the friends you hope to find or the enemies you desire to leave behind.

I had traveled openly and boldly all day through the Rebel Army, carrying inside the lining of my cap the official papers I wished to get through. I had placed them in my hat because I calculated that, in case of a pursuit and probable capture, I might be able accidentally to "lose" the hat in a way that would not attract any particular attention, and a search of the regulation place for a spy to carry papers--in the shoes--would reveal nothing to implicate me. Night and darkness was rapidly coming on, yet I continued boldly to advance right along to the front, and, in the gloaming, I reached a little house setting back from the road, where I applied for supper and lodging. There were several soldiers about the yard, and officers were inside the house, as I judged from seeing their horses tied in the barnyard. An old bushwhacking proprietor, to whom I addressed myself, said that he couldn't keep me, as these officers had engaged the only accommodations he had. Turning to the officers I explained in a plausible manner that I had been hunting all day for a sick comrade, who had been left at a private house; that I was unable to find him--his name and regiment I was then able to furnish, knowing very well from their distance back, where I had located them, these men would not detect me--and as I was too tired and sick to go back that night, I must rest till morning, and so I would take a bed in the barn. I showed my request for a pass, across the face of which I had carefully endorsed in bold handwriting, in red ink, before leaving the office, the official words, "Approved, R. Chisholm, A. D. C."

That was a clear case of forgery, but "All's fair in love or war," and "desperate cases require desperate remedies."

The officers were of that kind who are easily impressed by an endorsement, especially if it is written across the face of the papers in red ink; and without any further question I was invited to sit down while a warm supper was being prepared for them.

I gathered from their conversation that the Rebel outposts were still some distance beyond. Though their own regiment was on this picket duty, their presence in the house was explained by the sickness of the younger of the two officers, the older having brought him in off the picket-line. There were also in addition to this line of pickets, a cavalry detachment that were supposed to be constantly moving up and down the roads in front of or between the two armies. So I was still a long way from our lines, and had yet some serious obstacles to overcome.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant evening for me, although I was so near home again. I lay there in that hay-loft or horse-shed, planning for the last dash for liberty; I knew that I must not attempt to move out of the barn until everybody was sound asleep; I had also some fear of a couple of dogs, that I'd seen running about the house rousing the folks when I should stir; I realized that I had a serious night's tramp ahead of me; my path must necessarily lead me over the fields and through the woods in tiresome detours that would be necessary in avoiding the road. For this reason I was anxious to make an early start from the barn; and just as soon as everything became quiet I silently groped my way out of the loft and slid myself down on the manure pile; crouched a moment to nervously listen and learn if the way was clear, and not hearing a sound of life, I started off cautiously on the last quarter-stretch of my night run for "liberty or death."

Keeping to the fields and woods, but in sight of the fence along the road as a guide, for some distance without meeting anyone or the hearing of a sound except the crickets and frogs, I became more emboldened and climbed over the fence into the road, striking out at a lively gait down a long hill. At the bottom of this hill, or rather in the valley between two hills, flowed a little stream which was spanned by one of those old-fashioned stone bridges. When I came close I discovered that a sentry was standing on it. I thought it was a picket; I could discern a moving object that looked to me through the darkness sufficiently like a soldier and his gun, to cause me to get back over the fence and make rapid tracks through the field to his flank. Almost exhausted, I found myself on the bank of the same little stream at a point where there was neither bridge or pickets.

I had learned enough about the military way of doing things to understand that, topographically, this little stream of water probably represented the Rebel picket-line, and I surmised that if I were able successfully to pass this point, that I should meet with no further danger from the infantry, and that cavalry could easily be avoided by keeping away from the roads, as I could travel over the routes where the horses could not be used.

I waded right in fearlessly; there was but little water running, but, oh dear! there was lots of mud concealed under the little bit of water, and when I pulled out, on the other side, I had gained several pounds in weight which had to be carried along up the next hill by a pair of legs already nearly exhausted. I got over that hill and passed down into another valley, and had, as before, become so emboldened by not meeting with anything in my path to relieve myself of the extra labor of climbing fences and crawling over logs, as well as scratching through briar bushes and tramping ploughed fields, I again took to the road.

All that day and most of the night I had now been going steadily in one direction, as I believed toward our lines, which I had figured could not be more than twenty miles distant from my starting point in the morning.

Feeling that I could not be far from rest and glorious relief from the dreadful strain or suspense in which I had placed myself since leaving the barn, I recklessly pushed along the open road. Up to that point I could have retreated and saved myself, but now that I had gotten outside of the lines, no explanation would answer, if I were captured.

I was so fully satisfied that I was outside the Rebel lines and became so exhilarated with the feeling that came over me upon the thought that the next soldier I should meet would be our own boys in blue, that I started up the hill at a brisk dog-trot, feeling almost as fresh as when starting out in the morning.

This road was through a strip of dense pine woods. You all know how dismally dark the path seems which leads through a deep and dark, lonely wood on a cloudy night. I felt, as I forged along, like the ostrich with her head in the sand, that, as "I could see nobody, nobody could see me," and was feeling comfortable enough, notwithstanding the dreary loneliness of the time and place, to have whistled Yankee Doodle, even although I was not out of the woods.

I wasn't afraid of the Black-Horse Cavalry in that darkness and gloom, because I knew very well that afoot I could easily hear the approach of horses along the road in time to get out of the way by running to the adjacent dark woods. In my mind I planned my forthcoming interview with the surprised officers of our army, whom I would soon meet face to face.

It's a rule or law that scouts or spies must report direct to the General commanding, and not talk to anyone else. I was going to do better than this, and report to the President and Secretary of War, and show the evidence that I carried--that there were twenty-five per cent.

of the Rebel Army sick with this epidemic, while probably another twenty-five per cent. were absent on sick leave or straggling, and no advance was possible, while an attack by Banks on their rear would demoralize them all badly.

"Halt!"

That's the word I heard come from the darkness and interrupted my plans, which shot through me as if it were uttered by a ghost or spirit from another world, and put me in a tremor of dismay. The voice came from the side of the road, and _from behind_. I was so taken by surprise that I could not at the instant see the object that spoke like a deathknell this dreadful word.

In another instant a _soldier in a blue uniform_ appeared, pointing his gun at me, as he said "Stand there!" Then calling to a comrade, who had evidently been asleep, as he did not immediately answer, I recovered my voice sufficiently to say to the soldier in the blue blouse:

"You scared me half to death, until I saw your uniform."

He replied to my observation:

"Yes; where did you come from?"

I had not yet seen his face distinctly, but his voice and dialect at once aroused my doubts, and again put me on my guard, and I said:

"I'll tell you all about it when your officer comes," and I braced for a run.

In another moment the rattling of a saber was heard, coming from the direction of the woods, and, peering through the darkness into the grove, I was able to distinguish the outlines of a house.

When the officer with his rattling scabbard got up to us I was almost paralyzed to see him dressed in the grey uniform of a Confederate cavalry officer. Addressing me courteously, he said: