Mr. Benjamin, it will be remembered, was a close friend of Mr. Davis.

As the fall was now well advanced into winter, the weather was daily becoming colder, the rains were more frequent, and once or twice we had some signs of snow, and occasionally that most disagreeable of all weathers--sleet, rain and cold, all at the same time. We understood, generally, that it was now getting too late in the season for a fall or winter invasion of Maryland.

I had not learned enough of the art or science of war at that time to know that there were any seasons for Army operations.

One day, while standing in the hall door of the War Department Office, waiting, as was my custom, for the Captain to come around, I was aroused from the indifference, which had grown upon me, by overhearing two persons, who were passing me, talking together excitedly about Fort Pickens and Pensacola. As we had been hearing nothing at all about Fort Pickens during these summer and fall months, I had almost made up mind that the place had been overlooked.

As may be imagined, I was not anxious on my own account to have the subject revived during my stay in Richmond. When I heard the word "Pickens," which to my ears was like a shot in the rear, I was instantly on the alert, and watched most eagerly the movements of the two gentlemen, whose discussion had attracted my attention. They passed along out of the building and together walked up the street and were gone out of my sight. It was evident from their not paying any attention to my presence, that their conversation about Pickens did not have any reference to me or my connection with the affairs.

I felt the least bit uneasy, however, and, while I stood about the War Office in Richmond that day, the terrible thought passed through my brain, "Had I in any manner given myself away, and was I being taken to the Department by our Captain for the purpose of entrapping or identifying me?"

It does not take very long for these dreadful thoughts to get possession of one's brain, and they do grow most wonderfully into the wildest fears and fancies in less time than it takes to write the words that will explain the incident. I waited and watched most anxiously about the square in front of the office, where our horses were tied, for the appearance of our Captain. He was not in the building at that time, I learned upon inquiring of some of the clerks. He was most likely further down town, or with General Winder. It was our custom to hitch our horses at this same place every day, when, after dismounting, the Captain went his way, while I did as I pleased also, it being understood always that at or near a certain time we were to remount at this place and together return to Camp Lee.

That evening he was unusually late getting around, and when I saw him limping along, his cane pounding the pavement with more than ordinary vigor, I knew I should have to lift the old man bodily on to his horse.

He was always more communicative at such times, and ready to tell all that he had learned during the day. To my own surprise I blurted out, without thinking of my words, so engrossed was my mind on this subject, as if determined to hear the worst at once:

"How about Fort Pickens?"

"Oh," he growled out in his thick, guttural tones, "the Yankees have opened fire on our fellows from that damned Fort Pickens."

"Is that all," said I, with great a sigh of relief, which he must have noticed had he been sober enough.

"That's enough, ain't it? The President and the Secretary are both disgusted with General Bragg for not capturing the damn place last spring."

"Too bad!" my thoughts were, though I did not dare express them. I had prevented the capture of Fort Pickens in April.

As we rode along in silence for the remainder of the way out to camp, I had the opportunity to recall the Fort Pickens service, and I wondered and planned in my own mind just how that duel would be carried on there.

I should have liked so much to have witnessed the booming of guns from Pickens, and the exploding of the great shells over the exact spots in which I had located the masked Rebel batteries down there.

My fears having been relieved by this explanation of the conversation I had overheard, I felt very much as if I'd like to go off by myself and yell for the old flag, just once, but I dare not; I must continue to suffer and enjoy, in the silence, that was becoming almost a second nature to me.

It will be remembered that I had been at Montgomery, Alabama, at about the time the provisional Government of Jeff Davis was being initiated at that place. I was at the same hotel for about a week at which Mr. Davis then occupied rooms. I had several times been close to his person--indeed, so near that I was able to overhear the conversation in which he always seemed to be engaged.

Through the fortunes of war, and an adventurous, reckless disposition, I was again, in the winter of the same year, at the Capitol of the Rebel Government in Richmond, Virginia, in a position to witness the formal inauguration of Mr. Jeff Davis as President of the "permanent"

Government of the Confederate States of America, for the term of six years.

I saw Mr. Davis inaugurated, attended his public reception on the same evening, and, with all the rest of the callers, I was introduced to him, shook his hand, looked into his one eye, and passed out into the darkest night that I ever remember to have seen. The inauguration ceremonies were intended to be imposing.

We all know now that, even at the early stage of the war, there was much serious trouble among the Confederate leaders. During my experience among them there was scarcely a day that I did not hear expressions of discontent, and witness other evidences of a bitter feeling between the extreme Southern men and what they termed "Virginia Yankees."

My observations were, of course, principally among the rank and file, but I had also an eye and an ear for what was occurring among the higher classes. Though they were able to conceal their bickerings at the time, to a certain extent, we all know now, from the testimony of such men as Generals Joe Johnston, Beauregard and Longstreet, that there were always the smoldering embers of a volcano in the very heart of the Rebellion, and this cause alone would have prevented their success in the end, even if General Grant and the Army of the Potomac had been defeated in the field.

Though Mr. Davis had been elected President without any contest, the fact remains that there had been hostile opposition to him from various sources, probably the most noted being that of Howell Cobb. We, of the Maryland Battery, were given to understand by our Captain that we would be expected to do our share, individually and collectively, in making the inauguration a success.

The Secretary of War was a personal friend of our Captain, as will be remembered, and we all know now, if we did not suspect it then, that Mr.

Benjamin was the Mephistopheles of Mr. Davis' Cabinet, such was the peculiar character of his services to his chief.

Of course, we were all glad enough of an opportunity to display ourselves in Richmond as Marylanders who were exiled from home; we had been accustomed to receive the "ovations" of our Richmond lady friends, and we were all glad enough of another opportunity to secure all the attention we could command from them.

There were some fears, too, that the inauguration might be of such a quiet character as to reflect somewhat, in this way, upon the administration of Mr. Davis. In brief, Mr. Benjamin and our side were to take an active part in making it a "popular" ovation. I was in for this, as I had been for anything at all that would add a little spice to the daily routine of camp life, that was becoming tiresome to me.

A couple of days previous to the inauguration day, we were all kept pretty busy drilling our awkward squad in marching and in burnishing up our uniforms. We had received no arms as yet. The one old condemned iron cannon we were using to practice on was all that we refugees could boast of in the way of arms, for the proposed invasion of Maryland.

The trio before mentioned had been dubbed the "Three roguish chaps together," comprised the Colonel (our Sergeant), Lanyard, the sailor, and myself had promised the Captain our hearty cooperation. We determined to assist him and his friends in every way we could in "creating a demonstration," leaving for ourselves the evening following the reception of the President.

The eventful morning came at last, ushered in by a slowly-drizzling, cold rain. Indeed it promised about as inauspicious for a street display as could have been imagined. Later in the day the rain increased, and about the hour set for the ceremonies it had settled down to a steady pour.

It was, indeed, a dreary day in Richmond overhead as well as under foot.

We marched to the city through slop and mud, that added to our personal misery and discomfiture, as well as it detracted from our intended gay appearance.

The ceremony took place in the Capitol Grounds--a stand had been erected in the neighborhood of the Henry Clay statue. On account of the pouring rain, it was necessary at almost the last hour for a gang of workingmen to erect a temporary roof or shelter over the place from which Mr. Davis was to deliver his inaugural address.

I did not get to hear a word of it, but I was not caring a scrap about it just then. I saw Mr. Davis, though, through all the proceedings--we were stationed at some distance down the hill and looked up over a sea of umbrellas.

After the ceremony was over, we three were permitted by our Captain to remain in town, and the trio at once found shelter in the same comfortable restaurant in which I had first tasted the apple-jack. Here we were permitted to dry out our wet clothing and enjoy a good old-fashioned Virginia dinner, which mine host had prepared in honor of the day. The great china punch-bowl was still on the high bar, filled almost to the brim with the sweet-smelling, seductive apple-jack, in which floated some roast apples, which were garnished with cloves, so they looked like great pine balls, but I felt that they were as dangerous as porcupines.

I was urged to drink several times indeed, but one taste was enough for me. The landlord was rather hurt, or pretended to be, that I should refuse to accept from his own hands the courteously proffered mug of the delicious compound, to be drunk in honor of the day, etc.

The Colonel, who had been such a good friend since we had met while I was sick in the hotel, had formed apparently the utmost confidence in me. In fact, our relations became of the most intimate character, as far as was possible between any two persons who were so unlike in disposition and purposes. The Colonel was my senior by several years; perhaps, because of this, or maybe from the fact that he had nursed me out from my illness and led me into the company, I felt that he had an oversight or care over me, and acted toward me in the kindly way of an elder brother.

In the love affairs, in which we all became so absurdly mixed up with our Maryland slave, Capitola, the Colonel had taken it upon himself to act in my behalf and for my good. I had taken him into my confidence about Capitola, and told him all about my trouble in that direction; how our officers had taken undue advantage of their uniform to cut me out, etc. He agreed with me that it was an "outrage," and admitted, with a smile, that I now recall as significant, that it was due entirely to the uniforms.

I had accepted his offer to make things all right for me. I had consented most reluctantly to the Colonel's disinterested and brotherly advice--not to have anything more to do with Capitola.

On inauguration day, being in town and feeling in pretty good trim, I yielded to the impulse, and concluded to meet Capitola just once more, to say "Good-by," provided I could do so without letting the Colonel find it out.

While trying to fix up a scheme to get away from him and Lanyard that afternoon, so that I might make the proposed call undetained, I was delighted to hear the Colonel ask Lanyard and I, to excuse him for a couple of hours, as he had an important engagement with the Lieutenant that afternoon--business must be attended to.

I was not long in getting away from Lanyard, and quickly skipped around to the well known residence of our Capitola. She surprised me by meeting me cordially and, all in one breath, demanded to know why I had stayed away so long.

"Why," she said, in her smiling, innocent way, "all the rest of your boys have been to call on us."

"Indeed," thought I; and when I had sufficiently recovered to ask who had been there since I had been gone, she smilingly said:

"Why, your friend, the Colonel, calls frequently; also that Mississippi Lieutenant of yours. Isn't he just too nice?"

This was not exactly what I expected or desired to hear from Capitola, but it was enough. The Colonel, my brotherly friend, was deceiving me, too. One purpose of my visit had been to request her company to the reception at the President's that evening. I had formed the impression that it would be a great scheme for the Spy to escort the Maryland slave to Jeff Davis' reception. When I had intimated the object of my visit, she burst into a hearty laugh as she said, cheerily:

"Oh, that is too funny. I believe every soldier from Maryland in your company has made that request already, and I had to decline them all, because I had engaged to go with the Lieutenant, you know."

I was preparing to take my leave when the door bell rang. After a few more words and a sad "Good-by" to Capitola, I was about to leave the room when I ran against my disinterested, brotherly Colonel, who had been trying to replace himself in the affections of my girl--while advising me to stay away. He was not at all embarrassed, but at once broke out into a hearty laugh, and, pulling me over to a sofa, we had a talk about the affair, which amused Capitola so much that her merry laughter rang through the house as she gathered the situation from our "explanations."

The Colonel proposed going out with me, but I noticed that he had cunningly slipped Capitola to one side and whispered in her ear something which had the effect of causing her cheery laughter to break out in a fresh place. She rushed over to me and, placing both hands on my shoulder, said:

"There is another--he wants me to go with _him_ to the reception."

So I had my turn to laugh on the Colonel. We were about to leave.

Capitola, smiling, suggested that we march the whole company down to her house and she should go along with all of us--as the _Fille de Regiment_.