In the darkness I could barely insert my two fingers into the opening, as Mercutio says in the play:--"No, 'tis not as deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door: but 'tis enough, 'twill serve."

I don't think a hunted rat or fox was ever more grateful for a hole than I was for this; it was my only chance to get rid of the papers unobserved, and I at once took the hint from the sky and began silently to finger them out of my hat.

Unfortunately, they were quite bulky; the official paper which had given a tabulated statement of the epidemic and absence of twenty-five per cent. of the Confederate Army, was on foolscap paper, which _would_ rattle everytime it was moved; but by turning or scraping my shoes on the boards every time I touched the papers deadened the sound, I was enabled, after a good deal of nervous twitching, to get them into a roll sufficiently small to poke down the hole. That's what I thought; but when I attempted to drop them the wad wouldn't fit; and, to add to my consternation, the guard at this point was being relieved. I lay still for awhile in a tremor of excitement lest I should be detected; it occurred to me, also, that though the moon had kindly shown me the way to get rid of my burden of proof, the sun might, also, in the hours following, expose, from the front part of the house, the presence of a roll of white paper under the porch. I had not satisfied myself that the opening at the front was closed. To prevent the roll of white paper being too conspicuous, I tore from my hat the black silk lining, and, at a favorable opportunity, I re-rolled the little paper into the black silk stuff in a smaller package, which allowed of its being deposited in the Rebel signal station, and "let her drop." It reached the ground about two feet below, and, being dark in color, was assimilated so closely with the black earth as not to attract any notice, even if there had been an opening to daylight. This package out of my mind and off my hands safely, I breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and thankfulness, and uttered a solemn prayer: "That I'd be hanged if I ever touched another paper."

When I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked around and saw daylight breaking, my heart again sank within me as I realized my position.

Through a misty, drizzling daylight in August, I saw preparations of the rebel outposts to "pack off," and was hurriedly ordered to get up behind one of the troopers whose horse would "tote double," and instead of a gallant dash down the road to our lines, followed by howling and shooting pursuers, I was being "toted," back to the Rebel Army, "on behind."

It seems very funny now to have to describe my inglorious position, as compared with the novelist's idea of a dash for liberty. I was riding lady fashion on the rear end of a rebel cavalryman's horse, holding on around his waist for dear life, like a girl at a picnic, as we trotted ingloriously back toward the headquarters of the Rebel Army. It was quite unbecoming I know, and if I had been in a camp meeting crowd I should have enjoyed the ride; just at this particular time I was obliged to be satisfied with the facilities, and pretended that it was fun. I was smart enough not to allow those people to discover, by any words or actions of mine, that I objected to going back in this way; though I would have given worlds to have had a chance to delay them, in hopes of relief coming up from the Union Army that would compel them to give me up in order to save themselves.

[Illustration: I WAS BEING "TOTED" BACK TO THE REBEL ARMY.]

I had two chances for my life: I could not be expected to fight the whole Rebel Army single-handed and escape unhurt; the only thing to do, was, so to conduct myself that I might throw them off their guard and quietly get away, and thus have an opportunity to try again to reach our lines. The other alternative was, that if this chance of escape did not appear, that I might so conduct myself toward my captors as to win their confidence, and have the forged pass disposed of and not be carried to Beauregard. If conducted to headquarters, I might, by cunning stories, try to impress on the minds of those who would have my examination in charge the truth of the story that "I had become lost in the night, while searching for the house in which my sick friend was reported to have been left."

This was plausible enough, and I hoped from the general demoralization prevailing after the battle, that they might be careless, or at least indifferent, enough to let me off easy on this statement.

The forged endorsement on the pass, which had gone out of my hands, was the serious _evidence_ against me, coupled with the fact of having been captured while trying to go to the enemy.

There was, also, of course, always before me the great danger of a discovery of my identity as the Fort Pickens Spy.

I had ample opportunity to consider all these things as we trotted along back over that portion of the road that I had tramped out in so lighthearted a manner the night previously. The soldier who "escorted"

me was a jolly, good fellow, and felt disposed to make my ride as comfortable as possible, but as there were eight in the squad beside the officer in command, we had to keep up with the rest and, as our old nag was a rough trotter, it was a little bit uncomfortable at times. They seemed to be in a hurry to get away. Perhaps something may have happened while I was asleep that made it necessary for them to whoop things up a little that ugly morning.

The unpleasant jolting of the horses, and the rattling of the sabers and horses' tramping feet, prevented an easy flow of language--in fact, I could not talk at all; it required all my time and attention to keep my place on the rear of the saddle. I did not dare to drop off the horse, because the officer in charge had been careful enough to place us in front.

We reached a bridge on which was stationed a picket, who halted us; the officer rode up, dismounted, and gave the necessary countersign and ordered us forward.

I had only seen the bridge at night, and from the other side, where I had discovered a soldier with a gun walking about, when I broke for the field and flanked him. We were halted for a moment while the rebel officer of the guard, with our officer, walked a little distance to one side to consult with some others, who were in a drowsy way, lounging about a camp-fire.

I looked about to gain some idea of the topography of the country over which I had traveled in the night.

Several officers approached us, accompanied by our commander. I was requested to dismount, when our officer politely introduced me to the other, saying:

"The Colonel is anxious to know how in the world you could have gotten by his picket on this bridge last night."

"Yes," says the Colonel, "I've had men on post here who declare that no one passed them during the night."

I was taken all aback, because I had told the party who had captured me that I had followed the road right along.

"Well," said I, "I walked right over this bridge last night, and saw no one here at all."

What a whopper that was; but I knew that I'd got to go through with it.

Turning abruptly away from us, both the officers walked off a short distance and brought a sergeant forward to hear my statement; luckily for me, he admitted that at a certain hour he had been obliged to leave the bridge in charge of one man alone; but he insisted that it was for a short time only. After this admission the sergeant and his officer had some interesting talk, in rather an emphatic tone of voice, in which my officer and our squad seemed to take a lively interest. They evidently felt that they had found a weak spot in the infantry line of pickets, and rather enjoyed the honor of having caught the fish that had gotten through the net.

After this little affair had been so happily passed, to my great relief, they all seemed to be in good humor with themselves and with me, and were rather inclined to give me credit for having passed through their infantry successfully. As my escort's horse was having to carry double, and could not be expected to travel as fast as the others, the officer in command directed a second man to stay with us, while himself and the rest of the body-guard rode ahead.

They assumed that, being again inside of their picket-line there was no danger of my getting out to the Yankees--if I had wanted to try to escape from them.

We were directed to hurry to a certain house, where they would order breakfast, and very considerately urging us to hurry along, so we could have it hot. I was apprehensive, from this talk of a breakfast in a house, that I should be landed back into the old bushwhacker's shanty, where I had taken a greasy supper the night before, and had been put to bed in his barn.

I was not sure of the road, nor would I recognize the house, as I had seen it only at night when approaching it from the other side. I felt relieved when we turned out of the broad road into one not so well traveled, which led to the left or south, in the direction of Fairfax or the railroad. To a question as to our destination, my man said: "We are to go to Headquarters, I reckon, but we are to stop up here for a rest and feed."

Sure enough, after passing only a short distance up the side road, we came in sight of an old tumble-down looking house on one side of the road, while across from it was the identical barn that I had crawled out of a few hours earlier. The house and necessary outbuildings of the farm were located between these two roads. I discovered by the daylight, also, that there were quite a number of rebel soldiers encamped in a wood close to this fork of the roads; there was, probably, a brigade of them, or at least a couple of regiments, bivouacking there, as I judged from the smoke of their numerous camp-fires. They were preparing their early breakfasts. These troops, I learned from my companion on our horse, were detailed for the Rebel advance picket duty, and were scattered in detachments all along the front in the best shape to protect their line.

Riding up to the gate, I jumped off the horse with alacrity, and seeing the old bushwhacker in the door, I rushed up to him as if I had found a long-lost father, and began to tell him how glad I was to be safely back there again.

"But," said the old scoundrel, "why didn't you stay here last night?"

"Why, I couldn't sleep in that old barn for the rats, and so I got out; and as I didn't want to waken you all up, I walked off quietly alone, but I got started on the wrong road in the night and came near getting into the Yankee's hands."

"Too bad," said the old rascal, with a sneer and a knowing wink to a group of officers who had gathered around there for a breakfast and had heard my story from our officer. I saw at once that I was a goner, and that my story wouldn't go down here; but, keeping a stiff upper lip, I assumed an air of cheerfulness that I did not at all feel in my heart. I was disturbed, too, to observe that my commander was being questioned earnestly by several officers, who would every now and then glance significantly at me; from their gestures and manner I knew instinctively that my case was being discussed, and every sign indicated that the verdict would go against me.

This sort of a reception was not calculated to whet my appetite for the breakfast awaiting us. The Georgetown tutor, whom I have termed "my Rebel," was a perfect gentleman, and whatever may have been his own convictions as to my being a spy, he most considerately concealed from me any indications, and refrained from the expression of a suspicion as to the truthfulness of my story. He assumed in my presence that I was a straight refugee; and I inferred, from his intercourse with the officers whom he had met at this old house, that he had defended me as against their suspicions.

A young enlisted man from one of the regiments camped about there had been brought to the house to confront me on my "Maryland story," he being a Marylander. It was supposed he would be able to detect any inaccuracies in my account of Maryland; but I soon satisfied him, and showed the officers who had gathered about that I knew as much about Maryland and Baltimore as he did, and more about the Rebel country. I had fully crammed myself on that subject, in anticipation of being questioned on it.

I have often thought since that, had I fallen into the hands of those infantry officers, after having successfully passed through their lines, they would have been tempted to hang me without trial, and the old bushwhacker would have been glad to have acted hangman. He looked like a veritable Jack Ketch. They well knew that the report of the cavalry officer to headquarters would expose the weakness of their line.

I took occasion at the first opportunity to have a little talk with my officer, to ascertain what he intended to do with me. With a sigh of relief, he said:

"Why, sir, I shall have to leave the matter entirely with the officer who gave you this pass."

That wasn't very comforting, but I didn't say that I felt it was the very worst thing that could befall me; but, instead, I spoke up: "That will be all right. I shall be glad to get away from this place as soon as possible."

"Oh, yes; we will see you safely to our headquarters."

Then giving some directions to the sergeant of his squad to get ready to move, he turned again to me and said, kindly:

"I am sorry that I have no horse for you, sir; and, as we are now detained considerably, I will ride on ahead. These two men will come on more leisurely with you."

That was one good point--the chances for escape were increased three-fourths, or in direct ratio to the reduction of my body-guard, or escort from eight to two.

I was inside the Rebel pickets again, and _they_ had been made more alert, and would be more watchful after their carelessness of the night previous. This, with the fact that I had been scrutinized by so many soldiers on that morning ride through their lines and camps, would make any attempt to escape in that direction doubly dangerous; therefore I concluded I should try to quietly get away from these two soldiers at the first favorable opportunity; if I succeeded, I should not dare to attempt passing _that_ picket-line a second time, especially in daylight.

It was quite a relief to me to say good-by to the old bushwhacker and his crowd of Rebs from my seat on the rear end of the horse. He had something to say about "not coming back that way again," as we rode off.

They detained our companion a moment or two, while I imagined they poured into his head some cautions or directions about taking care of me. When he caught up to us, he said, laughingly: "Them fellows think you are a bad man."

This was thought to be too funny for anything; and to keep up the joke, I grabbed my man around the stomach and called on him to surrender to me at once, or I'd pull his hair.

We trotted along the road in this laughing humor for a mile or so; my heart was not in the laughing mood, but I, like the broken-hearted and distressed comedian on the stage, was playing a part, and, in a greater sense than theirs, my "living" depended upon my success in acting the character well.

At one point in the road my comrade had dismounted for awhile, and kindly gave me the bridle-rein to hold. I was then in possession of the horse, he was afoot, his gun standing by a fence-corner, and himself on the other side of the fence. This was a pretty good chance for a horse-race with the other fellow, who was still mounted, but he had the advantage of holding a carbine and a belt full of pistols, while I was unarmed. I wasn't afraid of _his_ guns. I took in the situation at once, and would like very much to be able give the reader a thrilling account of a race inside the Rebel lines, but the hard facts are--I was afraid to undertake it. I had discovered at the foot of the hill, near a stream of water, in the direction in which we were going, the smoke of a camp, and probably a road guard was over the little bridge.

These soldiers, I knew, would halt me with a volley from their muskets, especially if I should come tearing down with an armed Rebel shouting after me. On the other side, toward the out lines, the course would lead me back into the Rebel camps and past the old bushwhacker's house we had recently left, and I preferred going to headquarters to getting back into their clutches again.

When my man remounted and I surrendered the reins to him, I observed that, if I had wanted to have gone back, or to run off with his horse, I could have done it, and at least had a race with our companion; they had not thought of the danger at all, and were both tickled at this evidence of my good intention; neither of them had seen the infantry guard ahead of us, which was the _only_ obstacle to my attempting to carry out this "good intention."

We trotted and walked further down the hill and passed inside the guard; in going up the next hill, I proposed relieving the horse by walking a little; this was readily granted, and I slipped off on to the road and stretched my legs in training for a run, if a chance offered. I remarked jokingly to the soldiers, who rode along leisurely, that they had better watch me close; that, as we were now inside of about three lines of pickets, or road guards, being such a dangerous fellow, I might fly back over their heads into the Yankee's lines.