In talking with him one day, he remarked, with a significant grin: "You always say _down_ here, and that your going to go up home; I thought you was going to stay in Dixie?" I took the ignorant boy's teachings thankfully, and was more careful in the use of the words after that lesson.

I might fill a chapter with interesting stories of Richmond life which the boy gave me that were a pleasant relief for me, and served to while away, in my solitary sick bed, my first weeks in Richmond.

I took the opportunity the leisure afforded me of putting in operation a plan for secretly attempting to communicate with my friends in the North. I realized that I should not be able soon to undertake any adventuresome travels, and I could not reach home by any easy stages.

While yet a school boy I had practiced with my playmates a simple system of a cipher; with this, which was the easiest form that I then knew for a basis, I worked out in the form of a letter, that I could pass through to Baltimore on the blockade runners, a secret communication reciting my discoveries at Manassas, etc.

It is an easy matter to arrange a system of cipher communication between any two persons, which will be readily and perfectly understood by them alone, or only by those who have been furnished with a key. In my particular circumstances, however, it was necessary that my letter should be a blind cipher, and so worded as not to excite suspicion, or distrust, and it must, besides, carry the key along with it, concealed of course, as I had not had an opportunity of making a preconcerted arrangement. I had intended to propose this to General Banks at the interview at Harper's Ferry, which, unluckily, did not take place, as I have explained.

The letter that was sent through the blockade is given herewith, as _copied from the original_, and I shall be glad to have the reader look for the secret information it contains before referring to the key, which follows:

"CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA, POWHATTAN HOTEL, RICHMOND, VA., August, - - - - - 1861.

"_My Dear Father:_ - - - . - -

"For three weeks I've been quite sick, but am all-right now, and hope, through the kind attention of Southern friends of ours in army, to soon be out again. - - - I will be greatly obliged if you will arrange to have money sent without delay, to pay my bills here, which were incurred on account of this most unfortunate sickness. . - - I am satisfied it's impossible to secure from our Confederate Maryland friends any cash advance, because I know they are all rather short, (having exhausted in getting here about half their money before joining Army. Since I have been absent from my regiment here sick, I have consumed what balance I had along. We are not at-all discouraged, or demoralized; on the contrary, we look forward to great things under Beauregard, who is in front of Washington. - -

"A greater portion of Marylanders stop at Blank's, where I am - - - the house is large and pleasantly situated on a street up on top of quite a hill, that overlooks the Railroad that runs out to Manassas Junction. We hope soon to march right on to Washington, and drive out the black abolition rascals, and will roll them back through Baltimore. Of course, all the Yankee papers give lying accounts, but official statements will give the proofs of our success. I wish some of the Northern Congressmen could see Ely or Covode, who are locked up secure in Libby prison; with them are a great lot, officers and prominent men who are looking quite disconsolate through their bars.

"I met, Sunday night, a couple of young students lately arrived from the Georgetown College, who expect to signalize their devotion to the South in some heroic way. From their talk would think the boys fresh from their dormitory dreams of war. I will write again soon; will be glad to hear from home often, please send money soon as possible same way as before, so that I can pay up."

The preparation of this letter had given me interesting employment while I was confined to my sick room. Though it is quite crude, and would hardly pass the scrutiny of the sharp censorship that was inaugurated later on, but considering the times, and the fact that letters of similar purport were being daily passed through the lines from Richmond by Baltimore refugees, it was worded so as to perfectly blind those who might see it, and it answered its purpose very well. I had calculated to submit it openly to certain Richmond authorities, at a risk of being picked up on their casual inspection. I had been careful to select a blank, headed Richmond. No real names were given except Covode and Ely.

I knew very well Covode was not at Libby, but Ely was, and I could see no other way of getting Covode's name in, except to mix it with Ely's and assume ignorance, if corrected. This letter was not sent to my father's name and address, of course, but was directed to a certain telegraph operator who had been an office associate, and who was at the time in the employ of the military telegraph at Annapolis, Md.

There was a little risk in using his address, but I knew that the fact of the party named on the envelope being in the Government service would not be detected in Richmond, and the understanding with regard to these letters was, that for a consideration they had been taken into the United States and mailed at Baltimore. An additional reason for sending it to this telegraph friend was, that he would be sure to discover the key to the cipher, and would then translate and properly deliver it. If the reader will look at an apparent flourish under the words, "My dear Father," as if underscored, he will observe three little dashes like this, - - - and a little further on a careless looking scratch of the pen, resembling . - - This forms the key to the simple cipher, and the same characters are indifferently scattered about the sheet so as to attract only the eye of an operator. The three little dashes represent the Morse character for the figure five - - - (5), while the other signal, a dot and two dashes, is a W, which, when placed alone, is always understood to stand for word. Now the operator will be sure to see that 5, W, while the chances are that no one else but an operator would. The young friend to whom I had addressed this I knew would understand, from the tone of the letter, that it was a blind, and he would search for a different interpretation, and would soon discover the 5, W, which he would see referred to the fifth word. If the reader will read _only_ every fifth word of this letter he will have the true meaning.

_Translation._--Been all through Southern Army, again obliged to delay here account sickness Impossible Confederate advance are exhausted half army absent sick balance are demoralized look under front portion Blank's house situated on hill road Manassas to Washington black roll of papers official proofs wish Friend Covode secure them officers are there night students Georgetown signal South from the dormitory will be home soon as can.

The carefully studied phraseology of this crude letter, so that every fifth word which I would insert should properly read both ways had given me considerable trouble, because I was especially desirous that, as a whole, it should at the first glance impress any person to whom I might find necessary to submit it that it undoubtedly emanated from a Rebel and a Maryland refugee. This thought once established in the minds of those who I anticipated had the censorship of mail matter from strangers, I was satisfied would result in forejudgement, or at least serve the purpose of allaying any suspicion as to it being anything in the nature of a secret communication to the enemy.

What to do with my letter was the next important consideration. While yet so weak and thinned, as I was by the three weeks' illness and close confinement, I realized that I must yet continue to live in some such a quiet way as I had during my sickness. It would be folly for me to attempt to travel through the armies in the rough manner that would be necessary if I should try to reach our lines by the underground or by running the blockade.

The colored boy who had served me so kindly and so faithfully in the hotel annex, during these three weeks of sickness was partly taken into my confidence. When I began to feel like getting out, and my appetite had improved so as to make increased demands for his service to my room, I suggested to him one day that I hadn't enough money left to pay the bill at the office, and was especially sorry that I could not give him something handsome for his kindness to me.

"Don't you never mind me, as I don't want no money." It was then that I explained to him that I should like to be furnished a pencil and some paper so that I might write home for some money, etc. The stationery was at once supplied, and, as I had while lying on the cot bed during the long August days blanked out my proposed letter, I proceeded to work my cipher out on paper.

My faithful colored boy felt encouraged by my talk with him to offer me some good advice:

"You don need to give no money to me, an if I was you I'd not give no money to dem clerks, either. I'd jis tell de ole man, if I was you, and he wont let dem take all you money, and you sick hyar."

This advice, offered in his most friendly way, was none the less accepted thankfully, because it came from a slave boy and a waiter, in his own words, as near as I can give it. I learned that the "ole man"

was the proprietor of the hotel, and from his further description I gathered that I had not seen him since I had been in the house. The man who had talked about sending me to a hospital, the first days of my illness, was only a clerk, though I had assumed him to be the owner, because he was quite old and had so much to say to me. He was easily "placated," anyway, by the cash I had tendered him, in payment for a week's board in advance. I have wondered often if I were indebted to his pocketing that money, for the fact that my presence was so completely overlooked. I would prefer, however, to give the colored boy the credit for having quietly "done as he was tole, and axed no questions."

The "ole man" was an invalid at the time of which I am writing, being confined to his room most of the day. I made some anxious inquiries also about the "ole woman," and was glad to hear that she was "So big an fat she doan go roun much."

I was solicitous about the proprietor and his wife, because, you know, a great deal depended upon how he was going to jump after he had found out that I had been in the house two weeks, apparently without the knowledge of the office, and certainly without having paid any board for the time.

One nice morning, while feeling pretty fair and bright, I decided to make the break, knowing that I had to do something soon. I gave my letter to the boy to deliver to the "ole man," first, for his information as to the prospects of his getting paid, and, secondly, asking his advice as to the best means to have it sent North. You will observe the apparent burden of my letter is for a remittance of money, and, in the second place, I wanted to get it suitably endorsed or vised by some one well known in Richmond, so that I would not have to show up personally in it.

With a good deal of anxiety and heartache I waited in my back room for the boy's return, which would bring me this verdict. I dreaded being suspected as an enemy in concealment more than to be sent out on the streets of Richmond, though I was so poor that I should soon starve, because too weak to attempt any kind of work. In anticipation of at least the latter treatment, I had dressed myself up carefully in my new suit of clothes, which I had bought the day before I took sick. They had become ever so much too large for me. A severe dysentery can waste a frail human frame considerably in three weeks. When I heard the footsteps of two persons down the long corridors--they had no carpet on that annex--my heart sank within me as they stopped before my door. In another moment my trusted colored boy had thrown open the door; and, as he stood aside to let the other person in, he said: "Dar he."

I felt sure for the moment that all was lost--that the boy had given me away. When the "ole man" got up close enough I am sure he was struck by my very pale face. I was trembling from the effect of the suspense and tension to my nerves, and could scarcely hold my head up. The "ole man"

was not old at all, but a rather thin, benevolent-looking, middle-aged gentleman; he was lame and had apparently been very sick himself; his kindly manner reassured me in part, and when he bade me, "Lie right down and keep perfectly composed; we will take care of you, my boy," I did as he directed. I had to drop, and I turned my face into the pillow and sobbed like a big baby for a moment or two, so overcome was I in my weak condition by the breaking strain after and the reversal of feeling, it was so entirely different from anything I had expected.

The "ole man" had a few words more of comfort, and, turning to the colored boy, said, rather savagely:

"Sam, you damn black rascal, why didn't you tell me before that this young man was sick?"

Sam began to explain by saying: "I done thought you know'd dat."

But the "ole man" stopped him abruptly, with: "Get out; go and bring some brandy and water up here, quick!"

Sam was glad enough to get out; and when he came back, in a few minutes, with a couple of glasses on a tray, he was grinning all over as his eye caught mine, as much as to say, "I done tole you so."

The "ole man" administered the dose and, after a few more encouraging words, got up to leave, first giving orders to Sam:

"See that you attend to this young man right after this, you ugly nigger."

Sam seemed to be immensely enjoying the "ole man's" abuse.

I was assured that I should be made easy until such time as I should hear from my friends.

"Do you know Colonel Blank, of Baltimore?"

"No, I didn't, not by that name"--and I had to admit ignorance of quite a number of others that he mentioned to me, saying that his house was a sort of refugee headquarters; he would have some of the Maryland boys look in and see me. I didn't like that part of the visit, but there was no way now but to put a bold face on to anything that turned up. I felt that I was so thinned out and pale, my hair closely cut, and otherwise altered, especially by my new clothes, that I should not be recognized by anybody who had recently seen me so ragged in the Rebel Army at Manassas.

"In regard to your letter," he said, handing it back to me, "I will have some one see you who understands about getting mail to Baltimore. I only know that they do send them, and that answers come here to my house almost every day."

In another moment I was again alone, and so overjoyed by the agreeable turn affairs had taken--or by the dose of brandy and water--that I felt almost able to dance a jig. I was free again; that is, I was not burdened every moment by a fear that some one might drop in and discover my presence and begin to ask questions about my past history.

Feeling so much relieved in mind, I could not resist the temptation to go out of the room to have just one look at the sunshine outdoors. My boy provided me with a stick for a cane, and, with his aid, I walked out the long corridor and stepped boldly into the office. The first person I met was the old clerk who had collected my first week's boarding.

"You have treated me very badly, sir."

I began to ask an explanation, really not knowing what he meant by making it such a personal matter, when he interrupted me and hurriedly walked off as he saw the "ole man," who was pointing me out to his wife at the moment. I walked along without further interruption, except to attract the attention of people whom we met by my weak, sickly appearance, and, reaching the park, I sat down under the shadow of the Virginia State House, which was then the Capitol of the Confederacy. In one corner of the same grounds the Governor's mansion was pointed out, then occupied by Governor Letcher, while below, or on the lower side of the square, I was shown the building occupied by President Davis for an executive office.

I was within sight of it all at last, and for two hours I sat there taking everything in, only regretting that my legs wouldn't carry me around more lively, so that I might investigate more closely.

When I stumbled back to my hotel I was met at the office by a young clerk, who said he had been directed to introduce me to Colonel ----, and would I be seated a moment.

I had a right to believe, of course, that I was to meet the Maryland people of whom the proprietor had spoken, but I dreaded the interview nevertheless. However, when I saw the Colonel was quite an ordinary looking man, with a jolly, round face and pleasant manner, my fears subsided, and I was able to feel easy in his presence. I was introduced to several others as a Maryland boy who was unfortunately sick among strangers, and I didn't have to "make up" for the character of a sick youth. My appearance, probably, did have the effect of creating some sympathy, which was kindly expressed to me. The Colonel said: "You have a letter to send home I am told?"

"Yes, sir. I want to get some money very much. I don't want to go home, but would like to send for some money."

"Ah! yes, of course; that can easily be fixed. All you have to do is to put a United States stamp on your letter."

"But don't I have to pay something for the delivery?"