We frequently rode over to Washington to spend an evening. I had lots of fun, but no adventures that I care to put in print. Nearly every Sunday a couple of us would get permission and passes and ride up to what was then called the Arlington House, and thence through the lines of heavy artillery sentries about the fortifications, over the Aqueduct Bridge, to Georgetown and Washington.

At last we were ordered to the front. I do not now remember the exact date, but it was sometime in December.

This is engrafted on my memory by the fact that the "front"--as the history of the war shows--was then at or near Fredericksburg, the same grand old historic town, so dear to my memory, from which I have been escorted a prisoner to the Old Capitol only a couple of months before.

But I was going back--so the fates had decreed, in spite of Stanton--to this very same place; not exactly the same place, as the Rebel Army occupied the town most of the time; but we were going to get as close as we could to it, and be neighborly, without getting into a fight.

Another circumstance which impresses this date upon my mind is, that I spent my Christmas of 1862 on the Rappahannock with the boys of the old Army of the Potomac.

I was as happy as a boy with a new pair of boots when the orders came for us to draw five days' rations and get ready to move. As company clerk, being in the ring, as it were, with the First Sergeant, I was privately advised that we were to go to the front, so that I got all the papers in my possession in shape, and had everything so packed away before the Sergeant was ready that I had to open up the box for him again.

I supposed, as a matter of course, we would ride our horses right through Fairfax to Fredericksburg, going the route leading somewhere near the old trail I had footed so faithfully while I was in the Rebel lines.

I had not told anybody in our company--not even my good friend Captain Rodenbaugh--of my previous experiences in Virginia.

It will be readily understood that I was not anxious to disclose these things, which had given me so much trouble; in fact, I desired above all things to conceal them.

When I heard of the proposed movement, I went to the Captain personally, and took occasion to tell him that I knew something of the road to Fredericksburg, and felt competent to act as guide for the regiment, and offered my services in that direction.

The Captain looked at me for a moment, then, with a significant smile, he took my breath away by observing, pleasantly:

"Well, yes, Corporal, I understand you have had some experience down here that would seem to make you familiar with the roads; but it has been ordered that we march down through Maryland on the other side of the Potomac."

Though the Captain's manner was so agreeable and assuring, I was so astonished by the revelation that he, of all others, had learned of my private history, that I was for the moment so taken down I could hardly look him in the face. I felt as though I had been deceiving my best friend, and he had caught me in the act, as it were. When I ventured to offer some explanation, the Captain, in his courteous way, said: "Why, my dear boy, that's all right; we all--that is, the officers--have heard of your services, and, as a consequence, you have in advance plenty of friends in the regiment."

I was gratified to hear this from him, and asked no further questions as to his source of information, but ever after that I was further convinced not only of the Captain's kindly feeling toward me, but of the other officers as well, by the fact that, on almost every important occasion, I was honored by being selected for special Orderly duty with the officers.

We marched or rode our squadron out of Fort Albany camp one cold, damp December morning, crossed the Long Bridge, passed through the lower part of the city, up over Capitol Hill, where I got a farewell glimpse of Old Capitol Prison from under my fatigue cap, seated on a horse, going to the front.

We crossed the old bridge, beyond the Navy Yard, over the Eastern Branch, went up over the hill, and were soon out of sight of Washington, traveling all day over the same route that Wilkes Booth took in his flight to Virginia the night of the assassination.

The next morning we reached the river at some point, and put in all that day in getting our horses and baggage ferried across about four miles of water.

The next night we slept on the sacred soil at or near Aquia Creek, in Virginia--precisely the same point from which I had embarked as a first-class passenger in charge of an officer _en route_ to Old Capitol Prison.

The following day we marched over a long, wind-about road to cover the fourteen miles from the Potomac to the Rappahannock. How shall I write it, but that evening at sundown, as soon as I could beg the privilege, I rode my horse down to the Lacey House, which, as all old soldiers know, is located on the banks of the Rappahannock directly opposite Fredericksburg. The Rappahannock river only was between me and Geno; but, oh! my heart ached when I realized what a great gulf it was; and that was as near as I could get to Fredericksburg. Though at this point it is but a narrow stream--so narrow indeed that a conversation in an ordinary tone of voice could be carried on over it--I could not, except under the penalty of being at once shot to death by our own or the rebel forces, make even the slightest attempt at signaling to the other shore.

The Rebel Army occupied that side.

I could see walking about the streets some few persons in citizen's clothes, but all along the river, and at the foot of the street leading to the river, were armed men in gray uniforms. They had possession of the town that held all that was dear to me just then--little Geno Wells.

I lingered until the early twilight of that December evening began to drop down like a curtain; then with a heavy heart I rode slowly back to our own camp, determined in my own mind and heart that I should get into that town somehow, in spite of our own and the Rebel Army.

In my hurry to go down to the river, I had not taken sufficient care to get the bearings of our newly-located camp, and on my return at dark I experienced considerable difficulty in finding my way home. In my bewilderment, I ran afoul of so many camps and extra sentries that I was detained until quite late.

Our regiment was acting as Provost-Guard at Gen. Burnside's headquarters, and, as almost everybody knew where headquarters were to be found, I finally got on the right track.

It was fortunate for me, personally, that we were at headquarters, as I was enabled to at once make acquaintances that became useful to me.

With what exalted feelings I should have rushed over one of those pontoon bridges and charged up the streets to Geno's house, if I had been there at the right time, may be imagined. The anxiety and eagerness with which she must have looked for me among the first of the invaders I must leave to the imagination or fancy of the romantically-disposed young lady readers who may be following this narrative.

Captain Wells' house being located close by the river bank, near the point at which one of the pontoons was laid down, I have no doubt that its roof sheltered some of Barksdale's Sharpshooters, who so forcibly resisted this work of the Engineer battalion.

When we joined Burnside, we found that our regiment, the Second Regular Cavalry, was acting as Provost-Guard, one company doing duty as a headquarters or body-guard.

This took me personally right into the big family at the Army of the Potomac headquarters. I was delighted at this prospect. I realized that I should henceforth be privileged to enjoy riding a good horse in the cavalcade that always dashed along in the wake of headquarters. In addition to this, I should personally have the opportunity to rub against the headquarters men, which would also give me the facilities for knowing pretty nearly what was going on in advance of the other boys. There were other agreeable advantages in being at headquarters, as any old soldier who is not cranky with envy will readily admit.

One of these, which I appreciated very much indeed, was that, after I became a fancy Orderly, and stood around with clean clothes on, and wore white gloves, I enjoyed also the very best of rations.

I became familiar with the Surgeon's Hospital Steward, who happened to be from my native city, so we messed together. It therefore became one of the privileges at headquarters, especially with the Hospital Steward, to draw rations from the hospital stores, which was an immense thing while at the front. I don't mean the sick rations of rice, soup, etc., but the good, nourishing things that are always reserved for the poor sick fellows. We got plenty of tea and rice, to be sure--so much, indeed, that I have soured on it ever since, and never take tea except when I am so sick that I can't bear the smell of coffee. As for rice, I am fond of it. As the Colonel said, "I like rice very much indeed, if it is properly cooked--that is, about a quart of cream and milk, a pound of butter, and some eggs and sugar and nutmeg and all the other things, nicely stirred up and baked--and, oh, yes, I forgot--about a half teaspoonful of rice may be added."

The Steward's name was Fulton--Johnny Fulton--formerly of Fahnestock's great drug house in Pittsburgh.

It became the duty of the Surgeons to inspect the boxes before they would admit their contents into the hospitals, because, you know, they often contained articles of food prepared and sent by kind friends at home that might have been as fatal to the sick soldiers, if they had been allowed to eat them, as would have been the Rebel bullets. For instance, all sweet cakes, raisins, nuts, apples and other fruits were sure death for those troubled with the great army epidemic--dysentery.

Pickles, as well as the innumerable sorts of canned stuffs, became confiscated, as too dangerous to let pass, so that we had to eat them up in self-defense.

There was scarcely ever a box opened that did not contain a bottle of something contraband--some old whisky. These the Surgeons usually took care of.

I know that some of the boys even now will be ready to swear at the headquarters' "dog-robber." I've been called that so often, and become so accustomed to it, and "loblolly boy," that it had no effect. We went straight along, having as good a time as we could, wore the best clothes and rode fast horses, and when we were not doing anything else on Sundays, we would be out somewhere horse-racing.

There were, of course, some disagreeable things about headquarters too, and we of the Regulars had a standing fight with a lot of fancy boys who came down from Philadelphia that year. They were Rush's Lancers. As some of the Western soldiers have never seen this sort of a soldier, I shall describe him as a Zoo-zoo on a horse--that is, he wore a fancy Zouave uniform of many colors, and carried a pole about fifteen or twenty feet long in a socket in his stirrup. On the end of the pole was a sharp spear or lance, and a few inches from the end of the lance a little red silk flag fluttered. They were an awfully nice-looking set of fellows on parade. A thousand of them made about as dashing a show as can be imagined when galloping along in line or column.

It was expected that these long poles, with the sharp spears on the ends, would be just the thing to charge on an enemy.

I have often heard the owners explain just how they were going to do it when they should get a chance at the enemy. The custom or style had been imported from Europe, but somehow it didn't take well in the Army of the Potomac. The boys called them "turkey-drivers," probably because of the red patch on the end of the pole.

For a time they were at headquarters as a brilliant, fancy-looking attachment to the Staff; but every time we would go out with the "turkey-drivers" the "doboys," or infantry, would yell and gobble at them in such a ridiculous way that they had to be suppressed. I have heard as many as 10,000 men in the camps in the woods gobble at the "turkey-drivers," as if it were droves of wild turkeys, every time the lancers would ride along.

We of the Regular Cavalry at headquarters were, of course, pleased to witness the frequent discomfiture of the "turkey-drivers," probably because we were a little bit jealous of them, and feared, that their bright, dashing appearance might give them a preference over us as the headquarters' favorites.

Pretty soon they, like the Zouaves, changed their uniform to the old blue blouse, and threw away their long sticks for the noisy saber.

Although we had some fun among ourselves at headquarters, yet about that time--Christmas and January, 1862-63--were the dark days of the war.

Seemingly, everything had gone wrong with the Army of the Potomac.

Burnside had left some of the best blood of the long-suffering old army on the frozen ground over the river; the hospitals were filled with the sick and wounded, who could not safely be transported North; and, to my intense disgust, it seemed to me that I never rode out to any place, or made a visit to my friends in other regiments, that I did not run into some of those professional embalmers or packers, who would be engaged at one of their ugly jobs. The weather was cold, and these men went about their work as indifferently as we often see the dead beef and hogs handled in market!

One of the saddest duties to which we at headquarters were subjected, at times, was the piloting of visitors, who came down from Washington with passes and reported first at headquarters, to the regimental or brigade hospitals, in which their wounded or sick were to be found. Generally the visitor would be an old father, perhaps a farmer, sent by the mother to take home a sick or may be a dead son.

CHAPTER XXIX.

LIFE AT HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF POTOMAC--SOME STARTLING REVELATIONS AS TO THE "TRUE INWARDNESS," NOT TO SAY CUSSEDNESS, OF OUR HIGH UNION OFFICIALS--INTERESTING DESCRIPTIONS OF FAMILY LIFE AT HEADQUARTERS--"SIGNALS"--CIPHERS--AGAIN VOLUNTEERING FOR SECRET SERVICE INSIDE THE REBEL ARMY--A REMARKABLE STATEMENT ABOUT BURNSIDE AND HOOKER--INTRODUCTION TO GENERAL MEADE--A NIGHT AT RAPPAHANNOCK INTERVIEWING REBEL PICKETS.

We were encamped on the side of the hill on the top of which was the large mansion house then occupied by Burnside and Staff. My memory is not reliable as to names, but I think it was called the Phillips House; anyway, it was a fine, large house, with all the usual surroundings of a Virginia mansion of the days. There were negro quarters, smoke-house, ice-house, stables, etc. These were filled up with the innumerable crowd that are always about headquarters. Our command was in camp in Sibley tents on the hill-side or in the orchard, almost within call of the house. It was my daily habit, when not otherwise engaged (and I had the liberty of the camp), to loaf around the porch of this house. Some way there seemed to be a strange fascination in the general officer's appearance, and I took great delight in watching his every movement and in listening to the talk of the big officers on the Staff.

There was always something going on at headquarters. Either General Franklin, or the old, almost feeble-looking, but grand E. V. Sumner, or Couch, would be there as visitors, and before they would leave probably other corps commanders in the uniform of Major-Generals, with swords, and followed by their Staffs, would dash up to the fence, dismount, and strut in, with swords rattling on the frozen ground and reverberating in the big hallway.