I had been inside the Rebel lines for months. I had obtained the Rebel opinions, officially, of Manassas, after the battle, and knew the exact strength of the Rebel Army was not _one-half_ as large as McClellan's scare had represented it to be. I had heard the comments of the Rebel Secretary of War on Ball's Bluff massacre. Mr. Covode could, and did, endorse me as a "reliable devil," as he put it, in the committee room, and, of course, I was willing enough to be of service to my old friend, and was glad that I was able to substantiate nearly all of his statements.

The morning of my arrival in Washington, I hunted up Mr. Covode, and found him in his rooms at the old Avenue Hotel, the large, plain, old affair, that once stood at the corner of Seventh and Market Space. I was an early caller, and, without a card, knocked at his door before he was out of bed. To his sleepy growl of "Who's there?" I simply gave my name.

There was only one word of reply, "Helloa," in a loud emphatic tone; then in a more moderate voice, he continued, as if talking to himself: "Wait a minute. I got word you were coming, and have been expecting you every day."

[Illustration: HE SEEMED TO HAVE FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT DRESSING HIMSELF.]

The door opened, and the great Pennsylvania statesman stood before me--in his robe _de nuit_--grinning all over, with his hair all mussed up and his bare legs sticking out under his shirt.

He was about as funny a looking object as anything I had met with in my travels. He wasn't embarrassed, but, as he shook hands, I was drawn inside, and the door closed with a bang. All that was said that morning would make quite a chapter.

The circumstance which remains strongest in my mind to-day is, that he sat on the edge of the bed, and asked question after question in such an interested way that he seemed to me to have forgotten all about dressing himself. I was for the time being more interested in seeing him get some clothes on than in the fate of McClellan's army.

After breakfast, Mr. Covode took me to the Capitol, and the first person I met there was Colonel J. W. Forney, then editor of the Philadelphia _Press_, and also Secretary of the Senate. Mr. Forney impressed me most favorably; in truth, I felt more at home with him than with my old friend Covode--probably because Mr. Forney had the tact of drawing out his subjects and was more able to practice the suave gentleman than was the sturdy, honest old John. I was for a time taken in charge by Mr.

Forney, who, in turn, introduced me to several Senators, among them the Hon. Edgar Cowan, of Pennsylvania. I remember Mr. Forney saying, in an aside to Senator Cowan, and the others to whom I was introduced, "He is a capital subject." Mr. Forney did me another valuable service at this time. Of course I had no money; I had been depending upon the generous pocketbook of my good friend Barker. I made Mr. Forney and Mr. Covode acquainted with my circumstances, by a request for some immediate and active employment to enable me to earn my expenses.

Mr. Forney had a clerk make out some sort of a "voucher," which I think must have been for mileage and witness fees all over the Rebel country that I had traversed, another clerk cashed the paper for me, and, in this way, I was furnished at once with quite a nice little pile of crisp, new greenbacks from the Secretary of the Senate.

This was the first and only cash that I have ever received for all those months of service--of trial, distress and danger--excepting that which the good comrades who will contribute by subscribing for these "recollections of the unforgotten days to all of us."

Amongst the other members of the Pennsylvania delegation, to whom I was introduced that morning, was the Hon. S. S. Blair, then and now a resident of Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania. As Mr. Blair is the sole survivor of those who were with me at that time, I desire particularly that his testimony should be added to establish the correctness of my narrative, or to serve as a review notice, if it ever attains to the distinction of a criticism or becomes the subject of a controversy.

The Hon. J. K. Moorehead, who represented Pittsburgh, was another of the delegation in my interest. Thus it will be seen that, through the management of Mr. Forney, the entire Western Pennsylvania delegation, including Senator Cowan, of Greensburg, Pennsylvania, had been interested in my "report."

As I have before stated, I paid but little attention to these details at the time. I had but the one request, and, as before, which was, that I should be commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the Regular Cavalry Service and detailed on the General Staff, in active field service. I wanted to go _at once_ to the field, and cared but little for the "effect of my testimony" before the committee, or the pecuniary reward for the service.

Mr. Forney said, in his pleasant way, that was so grateful to me that I have not forgotten a word of it: "Why, certainly, you must have that at least, if not more;" but, turning to Covode, he continued: "Curtin can do better than that for us."

Covode thought anything whatever that I wanted could be done, but suggested, kindly, that it would be better for me not to take a commission in the Volunteers of Pennsylvania, because I should have to be put in over the heads of some others, and that would make it ugly for me personally.

I agreed with Mr. Covode heartily in that. I had been in the Rebel service long enough to see that this sort of thing didn't work there, because Claiborne, the Mississippi Lieutenant, was really treated as a foreigner, or outsider, by the rest of us "refugees from Maryland." So it was arranged between them that I should have a commission in the Regular Army. In support of this, Mr. Forney kindly talked to Senator Cowan in my behalf, who expressed some doubts about getting a Lieutenancy, saying in his plain way:

"Why, we may just as well ask the Secretary to make him a Brigadier-General; he can do that, because they are making Generals every day, but they are not making any Lieutenants in the Regular Army."

But Mr. Forney insisted in his agreeable way: "But, my dear sir, here is a young man who has done our State--who has done the Government more service than some of our Generals; he has been all over Virginia, and knows all about the Rebel Army, and all about Richmond--from personal visits; why," with an expression of disgust, "his services are simply indispensable at this time; he should be sent down to the army, where the information he has gained will be of immediate use to us."

The only answer that Senator Cowan made to this appeal, as he looked me all over critically, as he would if buying a horse: "You have the right sort of grit in you, but I don't believe we can get it."

It was arranged between them all that I should first give my testimony before the Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War. Mr. Covode and Mr.

Forney quietly conferred among themselves (they were Republicans and Senator Cowan a Democrat), and concluded that only a small part of my history should be made public at present.

I don't know why this was thought necessary, but while Mr. Covode and I walked together over to the committee room on the House side of the Capitol, he cautioned me, in his fatherly way, not to talk too much, and to answer only such questions as he would suggest.

On page 480, volume 3, of the printed document containing the report of the Committee on the Conduct of the War, will be found only that portion of my testimony that Mr. Covode and Mr. Forney, as my political managers, thought advisable to put on record at the time. The full story was detailed at different times to Mr. Forney and Mr. Covode, and others, but has never been made fully public until the present time.

After I had finished my testimony to suit Mr. Covode, and had been severely cross-examined by some of the opposition members of the committee, I was told through my friend Covode, that I should make myself perfectly comfortable; that he and the rest of the delegation would see that I was properly cared for.

I felt that a great load had been taken off my shoulders in this one day--that the secrets of my trip, which I had been carrying around with me, among Rebels and friends for months, had been safely deposited with the Government, and that I was at last free, and could do as I pleased once more.

I had worn the Rebel uniform to the Capitol and into the committee room, and gave my testimony standing at "attention" in it.

In giving my full testimony to the Committee on the Conduct of the War, I had no thought of antagonizing the War Department. My secret service was, in a manner, "irregular," and, instead of reporting direct to the War Office or to a General in the field, I was induced to give the story to a committee that was investigating both. In this way it was not "suppressed" in anybody's interest, but afterward had the effect of antagonizing certain War Department detectives against my subsequent services, as will be shown further on.

The first thing that I did with some of the money which had been given me was to trim myself out from head to foot in the best suit of clothes that I could find in Washington, but I preserved the uniform for future use. The next number on the programme was to take my brother and some of his friends to "Gautier's"--which was then the celebrated French restaurant--or, Chamberlains, of to-day, in Washington, where we indulged in a generous lay-out. The third number on the programme, I will simply describe as "making a night of it." We all went to the Canterbury and had a pleasant evening together, while I told the party of similar experiences at night in the Rebel Capitol at Richmond.

While I remained in Washington waiting for an office, like the office-seekers that now hang about the Departments, I remember that I was continually worried with the dreadful thought that McClellan's great army of good-looking officers would get there while I was being tethered, like a young steer, in the Capitol.

My case was "left entirely in the hands of my friends"--that is, I had nothing whatever to do with it but to wait, which was about the most difficult part of the job. As I recollect it, Mr. Covode was not on such particularly good terms with Mr. Stanton as he had been with the Pennsylvania Secretary, General Simon Cameron.

It is likely, too, that Mr. Covode's disposition to be continually "investigating things," caused the new administration of the War Department some annoyance. Covode was naturally Cameron's champion, because they were both Pennsylvania politicians--if for no other reason.

On account of some such feeling as this, perhaps, it was thought advisable among my "managers" that Mr. Covode should not personally bother Mr. Stanton--in my interest; that part of the contract was to be left to Senator Cowan and John W. Forney, while Covode was to see Mr.

Lincoln.

I loafed about the Capitol a great deal during the session each day, and I reckon, in my persistence and restlessness, that I bothered these statesmen a good bit. I had assurances from Mr. Covode every day that "it was all right," but I remembered that this was the exact way in which he talked to me on the former visit, and I was blunt enough to remind him of this truth, when he promptly got it back on me by saying:

"It would have been all right, too, if you had come back here, but we all thought you were dead for so long."

He explained over and over again that the War Office was so crowded, on account of the spring campaign, that it was impossible to do anything there in a rush.

One day Senator Cowan, of Pennsylvania, handed me a very brief note, which read as follows, bluntly directing me to go to the War Department and watch my chance to present it personally to Mr. Stanton.

"HON. E. M. STANTON, _Secretary of War_.

"_Dear Sir:_ The bearer is the young man who has given important testimony to the committee, about whom papers have been filed for an appointment where he can do the most good. It is suggested that you may be able to learn something additional of value from him.

Yours truly, "EDGAR COWAN."

The Senator didn't give me a chance to ask him any questions, but left me abruptly to talk to a group of persons who were waiting for him. I saw Mr. Forney and showed him the letter, which somehow or other was not satisfactory to me.

Mr. Forney folded it up and handed it back to me, saying, in his elegant way: "You just take that paper up to Stanton, and hang to him till he _sees you_. That's all he wants." Then, in a fatherly way, he gave me the advice to "let him do all the talking; you just answer his questions."

In an hour I was at the old War Department again. I first put on my gray jacket, but had covered it with a light spring duster or overcoat, at Mr. Forney's suggestion.

The War Department of 1862 was a desolate looking old affair, something after the architectural style of the "four story barracks," in a well-kept arsenal reservation. On the second floor a long corridor extended from one end of the building to the other, running east and west, on each side of which were the rooms of the principal chiefs. In the southeast corner, nearest to the White House, was the Secretary's apartments, with whose location I was somewhat familiar, because of some previous long "waits" and mighty short interviews with Mr. Cameron when he was Secretary.

On this visit, as before, I found in this corridor rows of people seated along the wall--ladies and gentlemen, officers, and a few sick-looking soldiers; big fat contractors elbowed the thin-faced, big-nosed, Jewish sutler, Congressmen, and, in fact, all sorts of people; and it is safe to say that every one of them had been there for hours, perhaps days and weeks previously, waiting their turn, or an opportunity to get to talk to the Secretary on their own business, which, of course, was more important to them than anybody else's.

There was a handsome soldier of the Regular Army in citizen's dress on duty at the outside door, as an orderly or messenger. When I saw all that were ahead of me, I was discouraged, but, profiting by past experience, I made a break for the Secretary's office, when I was stopped by the orderly, who demanded my business. I was in a Rebel uniform, but the soldier orderly didn't notice that; he said his orders were not to admit anybody at that time. I showed him my letter, saying, with an assumption of importance, that I was sent to the Secretary by Senator Cowan to present it personally. A Senator, especially a _Democratic_ Senator's request, was really of greater weight than half a dozen common Congressmen, because it was important just then that the Government should conciliate the loyal Democrats in Congress.

The soldier took a card, wrote the Senator's name and my own on it, and invited me to a vacant chair in the Secretary's office. There were rows of people sitting alongside the wall, inside the room, just as there was out in the corridor; but I had gained one point; I was on the inner circle.

I had never seen Mr. Stanton before, and was not nearly so anxious to see him again, after the first time. I need not describe the great War Secretary's personal appearance. His face resembles the photographs, and has always struck me as being the best likeness extant of all those great men. He was not so tall as one would think from looking at a picture of his face; and when I saw him, he stood at a small, high desk, a little to one side of the room, very much to my mind in the position of a school-teacher before an old-fashioned desk. The desk itself was a plain, square, long-legged affair, precisely such as we used to see our teachers stand behind, or that are used more recently by auctioneers on street sales. The sitters on the anxious benches all around the front portion of his room, with their serious watchful faces, helped the illusion, that I was in the presence of a lecturer or judge, awaiting my turn for sentence, like the rest of the culprits.

The attendant found me a chair alongside of a natty-looking young officer in uniform on one side, and a big, fat Congressman on the other; he laid my card, with the Senator's name, on Mr. Stanton's desk.

The Secretary was then standing beside his pulpit, talking in his positive way to some old gentleman; he was so intent on this business that he never deigned to look at my card when it was left on his table.

We did not overhear the conversation between the Secretary and his visitor, and being at a loss for something to do, I turned to the young officer beside me and said something as to the prospect for a talk with the Secretary. He replied in a very polite way, that he had been waiting for hours, for a single word; that, with him, it was a question of life and death; but he couldn't get any audience until the Secretary "called his name" from the cards on his desk.

The young man had so impressed me by his courteous manner that I became curious to know his errand, which he explained in a whispered conversation. He was just from the bedside of a dying father, on his way to rejoin his command, his leave having expired; he had stopped at Washington, and, upon the endorsement of influential Congressmen, he had called to ask the Secretary to extend his leave so that he might be at his father's bedside and bury him before leaving for the army. The officer told me all of this in a trembling voice, while his eyes were filled with tears. I felt so much sympathy for him that I offered to give him my time if my name should be called before his. At my urgent suggestion, when the old gentleman was about to leave the Secretary, the young officer approached Mr. Stanton, who bluntly demanded his name.