Despite the weather and some gloomy forebodings of friends, the reception of President Jeff Davis was a success--in the way of a crowd, at least. It seemed to me at the time that everybody was there. There were all kinds of people present during the evening--the very best class of the citizens of Richmond and, perhaps, some of the very worst element, along with the numerous army officers and soldiers.

Richmond, in the winter of 1861, may justly be termed, at that time, the wickedest city in America. Adventurous gamblers and bad citizens of every conceivable description had flocked to the Rebel Capital from New Orleans and all parts of the South and North. One portion of Main street was abandoned almost wholly to gambling houses, which, at night, were inhabited by the worst kind of characters, in Rebel uniforms. These people and their associates, who were in the city for sport and to ply their vocations, flocked in great numbers to all places where crowds were gathered, such as theatres, receptions, etc.

The Mayor of the city, a Mr. Mayo--whose name I remember so well because it lacked but the final letter "r" to spell the name and position in the same word--was a dignified, gray-haired, old Virginia gentleman, who did the best he could to preserve the peace and order of the city. I saw him frequently on the street and at the City Hall, on Broad street. I never had any dealings with him in his official capacity that prevents my bearing this testimony to his good intentions. He was on hand at the reception, as the city official, as was also Governor Letcher, who was another Virginia gentleman and official who I can remember with feeling of respect. General Winder, who had been a police inspector, or something of the kind, in Baltimore, was, in reality, the Governor, the Mayor, and the Provost-Marshal combined in one, as well as Military Governor, with absolute authority from the Confederate Government. He had, as a Baltimorean, imported into Richmond a number of the Baltimore ex-police, or plug-uglies, whom he had employed as special detectives in his service.

We went to the President's house together, early; and we stayed around the neighborhood as long as we could stand the storm, in hope of getting a sight of Claiborne and Capitola.

The Colonel and I took our places in the line, to be presented in our turn. I had some slight misgivings on the outcome of this adventure, because I knew that Mr. Davis had frequently seen me while in Montgomery with him, and I feared that the subsequent notoriety I had obtained from the Fort Pickens episode would have served to have placed me in his mind. It will be remembered, too, that the press all over the South, as well as the North, had fully described my visit from Montgomery to Pensacola. So, it was with something of a nervous quivering at the heart that I saw myself being slowly advanced to the President. I watched his face closely from my place in the line before I reached him, and saw him courteously and smilingly take each one by the hand as he was presented.

As I have said before, Mr. Davis' face was thin--his cheeks somewhat sunken. His pictures do not properly represent his face, as it was only when he smiled and spoke in his low, soft, gentle manner, that he was so fascinating to those who knew him best.

He was, of course, severe and unbending to his enemies, but he was always the same to friends.

The Colonel was ahead of me, and, as his name was mentioned, he said to Mr. Davis, as he turned to me:

"A couple of Maryland boys have come to pay their respects to you, Mr.

President."

Mr. Davis held his hand for a moment, saying, pleasantly, to the Colonel:

"Why, I'm right glad to see you."

At the same time he reached his other hand to me, and, for a moment, he grasped us each with a hand saying, as he looked at me with that one mighty bright eye:

"I'm glad to see you both."

We passed on, my heart fluttering terribly; but, once, in the crowd again, I felt that I had passed another danger. We lingered in the crowd for a short time; saw all who came and left in that time, and not being able longer to stand the storm, while waiting for a glimpse of Capitola, I turned away from the crowd into the darkness of a stormy night and wandered out to camp, so much absorbed in my own thoughts that I lost all care for my appearance--trudging blindly along through the darkness into the mud and slush until I reached camp, tired, where I quickly tumbled into the bunk and was quickly lost to all consciousness of the day's doing.

CHAPTER XX.

ONE SUNDAY IN RICHMOND--JEFF DAVIS' AND GENERAL LEE'S HOMES AND CHURCH--RECOGNIZED AT LIBBY PRISON--VISIT TO TEXAS CAMP--A "DIFFICULTY"

RENEWED--THRILLING EXPERIENCE--A NIGHT IN RICHMOND WITH TEXAS BOYS.

From the subsequent questionings of our people North about how things looked in Richmond during the war, I gathered that they all entertained erroneous impressions about the conditions of affairs in that city at that time. I have been trying to describe them from a Unionist's standpoint. Though it had been in a state of siege at the time of which I write, and was apparently cut off from the balance of the world for a year, yet there was absolutely nothing in the general appearance of things in the streets to indicate that the city suffered in the least from the blockade.

It may be said that Richmond was very much like Washington at the same period, the principal difference being that the soldiers who thronged the streets and filled the saloons and houses of one city were in a gray uniform, while those in the other wore a blue. There was probably more of the blue boys loose in Washington than of the gray in Richmond, because the Confederate officials and, particularly, Provost-Marshal-General Winder, of Maryland, was able, with the despotic power granted him by the War Office, to prevent a great deal of straggling.

The weather was now settled into the regular Virginia winter, alternating into rain, snow, slush and sleet. Under these conditions it was impossible for either army to move, and, as a consequence, the city was soon filled full of officers from Manassas, who were on leave from their command, or of soldiers on furlough, or straggling deserters. No one will attempt to claim that the city at this time was orderly; in fact, the oldest citizens are ready to assert, even now, that, during the early winter months, the respectable portion of the community were in truth besieged in their own houses. It was scarcely safe for a lady to venture alone in certain portions of the town during the daytime, while at night the straggling furloughed officers and soldiers, under such conditions, on the same equality, had entire possession in the streets and certain parts of the city.

There was apparently no scarcity of money--such as it was--and there was not, that I can recall, any limit of the supply of whisky and all the other little attachments that the soldiers either in gray or in blue will have.

Main street, 1886, looked to me very much as it did in 1861 and 1862, except, perhaps, that on the occasion of my last visit the city presented to my eye somewhat the appearance of Sunday, in its general orderly and quiet bearing, as compared with the noisy, boisterous crowds that we saw on the streets daily in 1861 and 1862.

Camp Lee was on that side of the city furthest from the Libby Prison and Rockett's Wharf, and those places in the neighborhood of which I had spent most of my time in the first days of my visit, after recovering from my illness.

I had neglected to visit my early friends, the guard at Libby during these later days, because of the long distance of our camps from them, and not that I had forgotten or lost interest in our prisoners at Libby.

One Sunday morning, the weather being rather more agreeable than any we had enjoyed for some days previously, I obtained permission and a pass from our Captain to go to the city early in the day to attend church.

The Captain pleasantly granted the request. Some of the officers, who were near by when I asked the privilege of attending church, facetiously recommended the Captain not to refuse anything that would tend to improve the morals of his corporal or clerk. I went off alone on foot, intending to make a visit to the prisoners before I should return.

Perhaps I may have been feeling a little bit homesick and disgusted with Richmond on this Sunday morning, because on the evening previous our beautiful Capitola had--to put it vulgarly--gone back on me for our Lieutenant.

I walked into the city via Franklin street, which is the aristocratic residence street of Richmond. There are on this thoroughfare some old Virginia homes and families that the city and State may well be proud of. General Lee's family lived on this street in a large, plain, double brick house, on the south side, one or two blocks from the Capitol Grounds. The house is quite ordinary-looking as compared with that of some of the large private residences in the neighborhood, but it will always remain to Southern people one of the historic houses of their city, because it was here on the street, on a Sunday morning after the surrender, that General Lee, accompanied by a few members of his staff, rode up to his door, dismounted from his war horse--Traveler--and, with a silent wave of the hand, parted with his personal staff, entered his house and closed the doors forever on his hopes of a Confederacy.

It is not written what occurred behind the closed doors, but there is gossip, which has, perhaps, been confirmed, that the staid, reserved, dignified old General, once inside his own hall at his home, completely broke down and fell to the floor, from which he was carried to his bed by the servants and that part of his family who were present.

The home of General Lee is more sought out by tourists in Richmond nowadays than is that of President Jeff Davis.

A block below, or nearest the Capitol, and directly opposite the grounds, stands St. Paul's Episcopal Church, in which both President Davis and General Lee worshiped. On the Sunday morning of which I am writing, in 1861, I took a position at the Fountain Hotel, directly opposite the church, to await the arrival of President Davis. There had been a good bit of talk about Mr. Davis' intentions of joining this church. Though he was a regular attendant during his early days in Richmond, it was not until some months after--and, I think, during the day of which I write--that he was formally baptized and confirmed into that church.

I did not have to wait long for the appearance of Mr. Davis. He came on to the steps so suddenly that I nearly missed seeing him. He was alone, and dressed in his usual plain way--had walked up from the direction of his office, when I had looked for him coming down through the grounds from his house. He spoke pleasantly to the few people whom he passed on his way, and disappeared inside the church.

Mr. Davis, whatever may be said of his public character, and a great deal has been written against him by his own Southern people, always impressed me at sight as being an agreeable, honest gentleman. I was frequently close to him, and always felt his presence, impressed with the feeling that he was having a great deal of serious trouble. I have often wondered if Mr. Davis ever entertained, for a moment even, the thought or fear that his life was in danger. I hope he may live long, and perhaps read the poor story of the Yankee Spy, who dogged his very footsteps in Richmond from after the battle of Bull Run until the winter following, and prevented any attempt at invasion of the North.

After the President had entered the Church, I lounged outside while the great organ gave the beautiful Sunday morning an impressive salute. When the tones had died away, feeling more homesick and blue than ever, I started off on my walk down Main street toward the Libby and the Warehouse prisons. As Libby is in the lower end of the city pretty close to Rockett's Wharf, it was a long walk, though it was Sunday, and the shops along the way were open and dispensing refreshments to the crowds.

My early Rebel friend was not on guard that morning, but some of his friends said he would be around after dinner, so, under pretense of waiting for him, I sat around in such shape that I could get a good view of the "animals" as they called the prisoners.

The tobacco warehouses in which the prisoners were confined have been so often described that any attempt of mine would be superfluous. It will be remembered, however, that, even before the war, all these large barn-like buildings were constructed pretty much after the form of our modern bonded warehouses. All the windows were made with iron bars, presenting the appearance of cages.

Groups of our poor fellows were easily to be seen through the bars, some of them having become pretty ragged; others were standing by the windows peering through the bars; a few walked or promenaded in pairs up and down the large barn-like floors. There were always two sentries and an officer at the main door, while on the pavement in front other sentries paced their silent beats, so that it was impossible for me to have any communication with them.

I desired for a particular reason to ascertain the names of some of the prisoners, and, if possible, to get the address of their friends in the North, that I might test my mail communication, by sending some word direct to them. Perhaps, for my own good, I was not successful.

I may be permitted to say here that, in case we had another war, the benefit of the Signal Service Code will be made apparent in this, that a silent communication may be carried on between friends of the same side under just precisely such conditions as I have described here.

If there had been a prisoner inside the bars who had been familiar with the Telegraph Code, as adapted to the motions of the hand, I could have spelled out over the head of the guard, without his knowledge, quite as rapidly as I can write it, messages that would have been a relief and pleasure to the prisoners inside, if not otherwise beneficial.

It was while standing in front of the Warehouse Prison, on Main street, thinking and planning over the possibilities in this direction, looking intently, from where I stood on the inside of the pavement, through the windows at the prisoners, that I felt a slap on my back that caused me to jump like an india-rubber ball. The voice, which was not a familiar one, said, loudly enough for even the prisoners to hear, using my own, my right name:

"Hello, Blank!"

When I turned to see who had "struck" me, I am sure that I presented a very flushed and, perhaps, angry face. I did not at once recognize the person, probably because he was in a gray uniform, but the smiling face of his companion, in the full black beard, I at once recognized as Doctor ----, of San Marcos, Texas, whom I had known familiarly as the young son of my uncle's neighbor.

I saw that I was caught at last, as I fully believed, and determined to make the most of my short time.

The tall young fellow, who had first approached me, I was able to recall, as the doctor mentioned his name and a visit we had made together to his house.

I was assured somewhat, and recovered from my surprise by the doctor extending his hand, and in the most agreeable and hearty manner, said:

"Well, Blank, I'm damn glad to see you are on the right side."

I hardly knew what to say to them, the surprise was so great, but this remark served to bring me to my senses, and I replied in a somewhat embarrassed manner, by asking what they were doing in Richmond?

"Oh! we are all here. Our regiment is encamped just out here. We have been in town to church, but are going out to camp now." Then taking my arm, familiarly, said: "Come along, the boys will all be glad to see you?"