I realized at a glance that it was our gray clothes that was the attraction, and that the appearance of two _real_ Confederates on that porch was creating something of a sensation among the lady occupants of that "Old Kentucky Home."

In order to gratify my vanity, and to see the ladies, as well as a desire to have some fun, I helped to keep up this delusion. Lanyard's object was something good to eat.

Lest there should be some misunderstanding on the part of our officer and his companions as to our motives, I quietly gave them the cue, and I admit now, with a sense of mortification, that we shamefully imposed ourselves on the kind people of that home as Confederates, and, through this means, we were so hospitably entertained that the officer in command was induced to prolong his camp in that grove all night.

Several of us were furnished with an elegant supper of chicken and corn cakes, while the officer and myself were agreeably entertained by the ladies in the parlor during the long evening.

There were, also, a couple of mules going back home on sick furlough.

These were tied on behind the wagon that was in front of ours, being towed along in this way like a pair of solemn prisoners of war.

One of these mules was bigger than the other, but the little one had the larger head and longer ears of the two, which gave to it a peculiar, wise-looking expression of grave dignity. It was what would be called a roan. I remember that, in our joking way, we had lots of fun about its hide being about the color of the Rebel uniforms. I reckon our loud and coarse remarks about this mule must have hurt its feelings; at least, this is the only way in which I can account for its subsequent vindictive conduct toward me.

Those who have been in Kentucky--especially that part of Kentucky--will know something about the roads. At this season of the year they were simply awful--not so muddy, but just about as rough as big rocks, and the exposed roots of large trees could make them. The rains for ages back seemed to have washed out all the bottom of earth, and had left exposed on the surface a network or corduroy of roots, with the chinks filled in with stones. It wasn't pleasant riding in an army wagon over these roads, and we earned our passage by walking. There was not sufficient room on that road beside the wagon for a foot path, so we had to follow in the rear of the wagons. In a long procession of wagons, mules, and soldiers, sandwitched one behind the other, I was walking slowly, one afternoon, with my head down, thinking over the happy escapes from the many dangers through which I had been almost miraculously preserved, and no doubt dreaming of the anticipated joys of a welcome home, which was soon to be realized, when all of a sudden I felt a quick rush of wind and dust thrown like a gust into my face; at the same time the rim of my hat was barely touched by the heels of that roan mule. The fellow who was beside me cried out something about "looking out," and dragged me back into the heads of the team following.

This is not an attempt to be funny, but is set down here as a most remarkable intervention of Providence--or my good angel--for my safety.

That mule kicked back over a clear space as long as himself, and had correctly directed his heels right into my face; had I been two inches closer, the blow would have been received full on my forehead and must have fractured my skull with its force.

When we got into the town, or City of Lexington, about noon, one day, we found the town full of people. It was, I think, court week; anyway, the prisoner game was played on some of the citizens here also, by Lanyard.

In this way we were well cared for.

It was night when we reached Cincinnati, where we were ferried over the Ohio river and placed on Ohio soil. Here I was, at last, free of all restraint, and permitted to do as I pleased. Lanyard was still full of the genuine Kentucky bourbon, and that night was lost to me forever.

I usually hunted up in those days, on reaching a city, a telegraph office, that I might announce to my folks at home, in this spirited way, that I had again returned to the earth for a brief visit to them. It was always a surprise to them to hear from me, after one of these secret-service trips; they never knew exactly where I was, of course, and could not make any calculations as to what point on the earth my balloon would land me next. It will be remembered that I had come upon them suddenly, after being widely advertised as having been hung by both the Rebels and our own officers at Fort Pickens, some time previously, from New York. This time it was from Cincinnati.

Being one of the boys--that is, a telegrapher--I usually had free access to the operating-rooms of the offices, where I frequently met with some of the fraternity with whom I was well acquainted--by wire. You know it is a fact that there are old acquaintances and even intimate friends amongst telegraphers, who have never met personally; their only method of knowing each other is through the mysterious and magnetic pulse of the electric wave over the wire.

In the operating room of the Cincinnati office, up on a dingy fourth floor, I found the night manager, a gentleman whom I had known familiarly by wire, though I had never seen him before. Introducing myself, I was at once made at home, and felt as if I had met the first friend since my return. After giving him a brief account of myself, I was courteously put in instant communication with some of my old associates in the neighboring city, with whom I was personally acquainted, and who had, by the way, heard of my mysterious disappearance and subsequent adventures. For the time being, all other business was laid to one side on that telegraph circuit and the entire system was turned over to me.

Remember, if you please, that I had not heard a single word from home for over eight months. I did not, of course, know that all were well. I almost dreaded to hear first that some one dear to me had died during my long absence. I had sent some communications through the blockade from Richmond, but this had been some time before I left East Tennessee.

Of course, no replies to these could be received by me. Now, if the reader will put himself in my own, or my father's place, each at the end of a wire five hundred miles long, and try to imagine, if he can, the agony of suspense and fear that hung over me at that hour, he will realize, in part, my feelings. My nerves were at such a tension that, figuratively speaking, they were strung out as long as that wire, that reached over miles of mountain and plain to my Pennsylvania home. With my own hand trembling on the telegraph key I sent my own message, as follows:

"To father: I am here safe; are all well at home?"

[Illustration: TO FATHER: "I AM SAFE; ARE ALL WELL AT HOME?"]

While waiting for the answer, which I knew must come soon, the moments seemed hours of suspense, while I tried to entertain my friends who were about me with a brief sketch of my adventurers, one of the operators took from the wires and handed me the reply, which I had failed to catch with my own ear while engaged in the talk. He read aloud the exact words of a _bona fide_ message:

"I had little hopes of ever seeing you again. Come straight home. Your uncle A---- is dead. All the rest well.--Father."

That was all. It was enough. All were well at home. The uncle who had died in my absence was the one relative I had last visited on the day I heard of the battle of Bull Run. I would like here to tender a tribute to my father, but I feel that I am not competent to do the subject justice.

He still lives, an old patriarch, and will read these notes and for the first time fully understand the entire story of his wayward boy's adventures. My father was the one true constant friend of my checkered career, and to him and his untiring interest in my behalf I owe not only the preservation of my life, but what little I have attained in this world. I can sincerely thank God, as Beecher says, "That I was born of parents who gave me a sound constitution and a noble example, and can never pay back what I got from my parents. If I were able to raise a monument of gold higher than heaven, it would be no expression of the debt of gratitude which I owe them, for that which they unceasingly gave by the heritage of their body and the heritage of their souls to me."

That night we reached Pittsburgh, which had been my business home for some years immediately preceding my war travels.

My father's home was not at that time in Pittsburgh but a little distance beyond.

Early next morning I was around town, and soon enough found plenty of my old chums. I was only in danger then of meeting too many people who were anxious to hear my story from my own lips. Luckily for me, perhaps, I was captured by Mr. William Moreland, an old associate, who was then the district attorney, and through his advice and management I was preserved from my friends, and urged not to talk too much until I had first reported to Washington.

It will be remembered that I had suffered previously by giving the New York papers an account of my Florida campaign in advance of my report to Washington; and, with a desire to profit by this experience, I refrained from giving away my story.

At my father's house, on the sunset side of the Allegheny Mountains close by Cresson Springs, I remained in comparative retirement but for a few days.

While I was at home, it so happened that Parson Brownlow was coming up through Ohio on his way to Washington, after his release or banishment from home. He was having quite extensive ovations at all the principal cities, delivering at each place one of his characteristic speeches. One day, rather unexpectedly to me, we were told that the Parson would pass our place on a certain train in a few hours. I determined to see him, and, if possible, get a speech for our townspeople while the train stopped. Quite a crowd had gathered about the platform by the time the train reached us. We discovered the Parson on the engine. The railroad officials, who were quite attentive to this class of travelers, usually tender their distinguished guests a seat on the engine, for a better view of the scenery as the train is whirled over the big mountain.

I climbed up on the engine as soon as the train stopped, followed by my father and several others. The Parson looked surprised, and I imagined for a moment that when he saw the familiar gray clothes making a break on him, followed by a crowd of eager persons so closely, that he recalled some of his former Knoxville experiences among the Rebels.

Mr. Brownlow had changed considerably since I had seen him, when he was wrapped up in his old shawl in his Knoxville parlor. He was dressed in a new suit of black broadcloth, and wore a high silk hat, gloves, etc., that gave him quite a clerical appearance.

Without speaking a word for a moment, so surprised was he, he simply reached his hand toward me with a blank stare of astonishment on his countenance. To my hearty, laughing greeting, he soon cordially replied, recognizing me as his interviewer with Miss Craig, and, but for the fact that the train stopped only a moment, we would have had a good speech from him.

When the train reached Altoona, twenty-five miles beyond, where the party were met by G. W. Childs and Mr. Stewart, as a committee of reception from the City of Philadelphia, and, in reply to their address of welcome, Mr. Brownlow pleasantly referred to "meeting one of his rebel guard up on the mountain," declaring that the Rebel ghost followed him, phantom-like, every place he went, night and day, always awake.

CHAPTER XXIV.

ARRIVAL AT WASHINGTON--MEETS HON. JOHN COVODE--J. W. FORNEY AND SENATORS--TESTIMONY BEFORE COMMITTEE ON THE CONDUCT OF THE WAR--REMARKABLE INTERVIEWS WITH SECRETARY STANTON--A VISIT TO MR.

LINCOLN, AT WASHINGTON--THE TELEGRAPH CORPS--AGAIN ORDERED TO THE FRONT, AT FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA.

It was my good fortune at the time of my return home to meet with the Hon. A. A. Barker, of Ebensburg, Pennsylvania, who had been a friend of the family all my life, who subsequently represented that district of Pennsylvania in Congress. Mr. Barker may be described as being in every sense a large man. He was one of those great six-feet, bone-and-sinew fellows, who, as he used to say, "come from way down in Maine, where I was bred and born." He was not only large in stature, but broad and liberal otherwise, with a head and heart in correct proportion. He lives yet, an honored citizen and a veritable Daniel in the politics of his adopted State, and will, I have no doubt, be glad to read in print the history of his _protege_ of the early days of the war.

Mr. Barker took me in charge for the time being, accompanying me to Washington at his own expense, where I was to meet with my former friend, the Hon. John Covode. We went by way of Philadelphia, in order to again meet Parson Brownlow, who was then a guest of Mr. George W.

Childs.

The purpose of the visit was to obtain from Mr. Brownlow some additional endorsement from him, of my being in Knoxville, that my friends desired to use in Washington.

In those days I cared but little for such matters, as proofs or evidence of work I had endeavored to perform, which, as a rule, we left to others to look after in my interest. It would have been better for me in those days, perhaps, if I had been blessed with a little bit of ordinary business management, but I confess here that I had but a small allowance of "business sense," as that term is applied to selfish interests. I am thankful, however, for a good memory, and really believe that, after a little quiet reflection, I can bring to my mind nearly everything that happened to me during the war--that is worth remembering.

I was induced to say that I had but little common sense, by the reflection, after a lapse of twenty-five years, that I must have shown a lamentable lack of policy, by traveling about so defiantly at this time in Pennsylvania and Washington, clothed in a dirty Rebel uniform. This in itself was bad enough, but I was frequently so indiscreet as to show some boyish resentment toward every person whom I imagined was showing an idle curiosity as to my history.

I became contrary, or, if you please, cranky, and indignantly refused to act upon the suggestion of friends, that I should make a change in my dress, declaring stubbornly that I should face the President in that uniform--and I did--at the War Department office in Washington; but it was a foolish thing to do, and gave me a heap of trouble subsequently, as we shall see.

One of the most unlucky or unfortunate changes that had occurred during my long absence in Richmond was, that Simon Cameron had been relieved, as the Secretary of War, by the Hon. E. M. Stanton.

The kind and clever old Pennsylvania statesman, who had been induced to take such an interest in my work, and to whom I was directly responsible, was, at the time of my return, away off in St. Petersburg, Russia, as Minister for the United States.

Colonel Thomas A. Scott, who had been an Assistant Secretary of War to Mr. Cameron, and whose personal endorsement to Mr. Cameron had first set me going, had also been relieved by a Mr. P. H. Watson, who was at the time Acting Assistant Secretary to Mr. Stanton.

My brother, Spencer, who, for some months previously, had been in the employ of the War Department as a telegraph operator, and whose relations with the Government officials were necessarily somewhat of a confidential character, took me to his room in a boarding-house on F street, where were living a number of War Department clerks. Spencer thought the fact of my wearing the Rebel uniform one of the best kind of jokes, and he, consequently, took great delight in calling the attention of all his War Department associates to the fact.

My old and constant friend "Glory to God," as the Hon. John Covode was called, was the only man of prominence in Washington that I knew, or who had any knowledge of my previous undertakings. He was a Member of Congress from a Pennsylvania District adjoining my own home, near Pittsburgh. Congress was in session at this time, and it so happened that, for some months previously Mr. Covode had been stirring things up in the House at a lively rate, by his persistent investigation of our military men and movements in Virginia. There had been an investigation of Bull Run, of Ball's Bluff massacre, of old Patterson, in Pennsylvania, and, more recently, a great hubbub had been raised all over the country about General McClellan's failure, or slowness, in moving "on to Richmond" via Manassas.

There was, indeed, a great deal of this sort of thing going on, the details of which had been ground up and sifted through the one joint "Committee on the Conduct of the War," of which Mr. Covode was chairman.

To make a long story short, all will see--to use a vulgar term--that my arrival was "just nuts to Old Glory," as some one told me. If an angel had dropped down from the sky to corroborate the honest old man's assertion, it would not have been more opportune.