I saw Burnside every day, and several times a day. Whatever may be the judgment as to his generalship, there can be but one opinion as to his handsome appearance and his courteous manner. I became a personal Orderly to the General, and bear my cheerful testimony that he was always courteous and kind, and most tenderhearted and thoughtful of the welfare of the boys in the ranks.

It was my privilege to have seen him frequently when alone during the dark, dreary days that followed his terrible disaster. I have often since thought that his mind became affected by his great trouble. He would do some of the queerest things; as, for instance, one evening he came out into the back part of the house, where I happened to be at the time, in company with a chum, there being no one else near. He, in his bare head, coolly walked up to us. We, of course, jumped to our feet, saluted and properly stood at attention, expecting that he would pass on, but, instead, he stopped, and, with a peculiar little laugh, said, in words that I do not now recollect, but, in effect, it was: "Tell them it's all right." Then, as if suddenly recovering consciousness, probably at our stupidity in staring at him, he turned abruptly away, saying, hurriedly: "Never mind, never mind."

My companion, being older and more experienced than I, probably felt it his duty to whisper to me, as he touched my arm: "Come; don't stare so.

Don't you see the 'old man' is full?"

I believed at the time, and for a long time after, that my companion was right, but, in the light of subsequent events, and coupled with some other singular things that it was my privilege to witness in the few days that followed, I am reluctantly inclined to believe that General Burnside was crazed by his defeat, and that he had not recovered the possession of his faculties when he planned the "Mud Campaign."

But, to better explain my reasons for entertaining this view, I will explain that, a day or two after this singular occurrence, when I found an opportunity to see the General alone, I took occasion to boldly make a proposition to him. As I put the matter in writing at the time, at his request (for my own good, as he in such a kindly way suggested), it is probable that the paper may be among the records.

I wanted to go over the river very, very much--that goes without saying.

As I knew Geno was in the house, the roof and one corner of which I could see, I made almost a daily pilgrimage to the Lacey House, and sat there on my horse by the hour, hoping and praying that it might be that she or some of the family would recognize me.

When I made bold to personally address General Burnside, I am afraid that I began in a rather nervous voice and manner to unfold my plan of going into General Lee's lines again. At first he looked at me a little incredulously, then, as he recognized me as being one of the telegraph and signal men about his headquarters, he said: "Why, my dear boy, I couldn't send you on such an errand as that."

But I persisted, and, to assure him further, I told him I had been there before, and wasn't afraid to go again.

"You surprise me," said the General, genially. "Come into my room and I'll talk it over a little."

I followed him into his room, where we found at least half a dozen officers already gathered; indeed, there was always a crowd of them around headquarters. While General Burnside greeted them cordially, I stood at attention, at a respectful distance, in one corner of the room, where I was wholly unobserved.

While waiting for the General to clear up the business with his callers--which, by the way, seemed to me a long, long while--I heard, among others, one little story that I do not think has ever been printed.

Some officers were quietly discussing the recent battle; indeed, this was a subject that would not down. It seemed as if the ghosts of the thousands of dead soldiers who were slaughtered before Marye's Heights and at the pontoons were haunting the memories of our Generals.

And, by the way, the boys who died doing their thankless duty at the pontoons are almost forgotten, though they are almost as numerous as those who charged up the heights. Well, one of the officers whom I heard talking on the subject that day was, to my mind then, quite an ordinary-looking man. He was a little bit stoop-shouldered; at least, his careless, loose dress gave him that appearance, while with his muddy boots and spectacles and generally unsoldierly bearing, he gave me the impression that he was a Brigade Surgeon. Another of the officers, speaking of the failure of the army, made some remark about the left not doing its share. At this the Surgeon jerked up his head and his eyes showed fire through his spectacles, as he said: "I want you to understand that my division on the left broke Jackson's line in our charge, and, if we had been sustained, the result would have been different."

There was a good deal more of this sort of talk, pro and con, to which I paid no attention at the time, because it seemed as if everybody that I heard speak was explaining something or finding fault with another, and it, of course, became tiresome. There was lots of this sort of thing around headquarters which we on the outside overheard.

One little circumstance indelibly impressed this one man's talk on my mind at the time. Holding up his battered, old, slouched hat, and sticking his bony finger through a bullet-hole, in the crown, he said, in a reply to a suggestion that "there was no enemy in front of him, as there was at Marye's Heights"--"I found it hot enough in my front."

After he left I asked who the doctor was. The man on duty at the door looked at me with disgust as he said: "That's no damned doctor, man; don't you know General Meade?"

That was my introduction to the future commander of the army. And I put it on paper here now, that Meade's Division, of the old Sixth Corps, made a charge, at Fredericksburg, on Jackson's 30,000 men (the best position of the Rebels, because higher and more precipitous than Marye's Heights) that equaled that of Pickett at Gettysburg, yet we never hear the survivors blow of it.

I had a much longer wait for my opportunity to talk with General Burnside alone on this business than the reader has in reading this story.

I might tell some secrets that I overheard that day, while lying about headquarters. My ears were always as wide open as the proverbial little pitcher's, and, besides, I had been in training so much under similar circumstances in the Rebel country that I could scarcely help picking up everything that dropped in my hearing or sight.

However, at last they were all gone, excepting the Adjutant-General and his clerk; these two were busily engaged with some papers, seated at a long dining-room table that had been drawn out for a desk. After General Burnside gave some directions about his correspondence to the War Department, he turned to me and, taking a chair in each hand, asked me to sit down, and in as courteous a manner as if I were a Major-General he began apologizing for the delay. He drew his chair right up in front of mine, looking me straight in the eye, as he said: "Now, my young friend, what is it that you propose?"

As briefly as I could put it I explained, what my plan was--to open telegraph communication from the town of Fredericksburg, inside the Rebel lines, direct with his headquarters telegraph operators. This at the first glance may seem to be a wild, visionary scheme, but that it was entirely feasible I soon satisfied General Burnside.

Those who were in the Army of the Potomac will remember the Signal Telegraph Corps. I do not mean the Military or Morse Corps, but the _Signal_ Telegraph Corps. There were two distinct organizations doing practically the same character of work in the Army of the Potomac. As a natural consequence, these two army telegraph corps were in a state of active, bitter warfare against each other all the time. The Morse Telegraph Corps was a civilian or non-military affair under Mr. Eckert, who was located at the War Office. Through this fact, and the sinister influence of these jealous Washington telegraphers, they were successful in securing Mr. Stanton's hostility to the Army Signal Telegraph Corps.

Every old army man will remember the signal telegraph lines that were constructed, as if by magic, on the little ten-foot poles, which were stretched along the roads like miniature telegraphs, always taking the shortest cuts through the camps.

I presume that every Corps Headquarters was in immediate telegraphic connection with the General Headquarters, and that the little poles and gum-insulated wire extended to all the important outposts. This telegraph line was used in connection with the flag-and-torch system.

For instance, from some elevated position on the outskirts of our lines, probably a tree-top or a distant hill, always overlooking the enemy's country (which was just over the river), would be located a signal station. Here would be found a signal officer and his squad of trained flag swingers. Those stations were equipped with the very best field-glasses and telescopes that were obtainable in this country and in Europe.

The telescope, being the larger glass, would always be found supported on a platform or tripod, and usually leveled so as to sweep the enemy's country. Each of these stations covered a designated field, equal in extent to five or ten miles. A number of these stations were arranged so that the entire front, as well as the rear, if possible, and both flanks of the enemy, were being minutely inspected every hour of the day, and any unusual movement of men or teams were at once noted and immediately reported to headquarters.

The telegraph lines were generally used while in permanent camps to convey these reports back from the front. But in case of their being disarranged or on the march, when telegraphs could not be operated, the flag-and-torch system was used.

Those who have seen these temporary wires will remember that they were apparently about the thickness of a lead-pencil, but an examination would show that a gum or rubber casing inclosed a very thin copper wire.

For purpose of insulation the best quality of rubber was used, while the wire was of the purest copper. It was made in Europe to order, and, as it was expected that the wires would receive some pretty hard usage, great care was taken in its manipulation.

The wire, though as thick as a pencil, was as flexible as a piece of rope of the same thickness. It could be looped, tied and twisted into any sort of shape in the roughest, shortest manner, and be undone without damaging it. It will be understood without further explanation from me, that the purpose in having this army signal wire made in this way was to secure perfect insulation for the electric current. It was expected that, in certain emergencies, the wire could be rapidly reeled off the hose-carriage-looking vehicle that carried it on to the ground, even during a battle, and signal communication kept up through it even while it lay on the ground or in the water. A corps of men with wagons arranged to carry cords of their little circus-tent telegraph poles would run along after the reel, like a hook-and-ladder company, and were drilled to rapidly pick up the wire and suspend it overhead, where it was not liable to be injured by men or horses coming against it.

I didn't have to tell him all of this, because he already knew all about it. The telegraph and the wire were both in his sight continually. I merely said to him: "General, I will take some of that insulated wire, submerge it as a cable under the Rappahannock, and go over there myself and telegraph your headquarters every hour, if necessary, from inside the Rebel lines."

"Why, my boy, if you were to attempt to take that wire over there, the first use that would be made of it would be to make a rope to hang you."

"But I'm not going over there with a rope in my hands," I said. Then I fully explained to the General, first, that I could get into Fredericksburg in apparent safety, under pretense of being a Rebel, because I had actually been taken away from there in arrest and confined in Old Capitol Prison, by Mr. Stanton's orders, which fact was well-known by some friends in the town. At this the General's mouth opened in astonishment, and he probably began to think he was talking with a crazy man. But, after a long talk about my former experiences and my recent personal troubles with Mr. Stanton, which interested the General, especially the latter, seemed to renew his interest, and he apparently gave me his sympathy and encouragement. The poor old General was in great trouble with the War Office just then, and probably from this fact he was able to better appreciate my queer position. How very insignificant and trifling my affairs became, as compared with his own distressing, heart-breaking burden!

The General, with a deep sigh, as an expression of pain passed over his face that I shall never forget, said:

"My dear boy, I should like to avail myself of your offer, and will think it over; but," with hesitancy, as his brow wrinkled with something like a frown of distrust, "I want to say to you in the way of secret-service confidence, that the position and location of the Rebel forces has been incorrectly reported to me by the War Department Secret Service officials."

In this connection I can only explain this voluntary observation by the well-known fact that, undoubtedly, Burnside was indirectly obliged by public sentiment, expressed through Halleck and Stanton, and perhaps the President, to make his unfortunate movement over the river, in the face of an enemy intrenched on the almost-impregnable heights, against his better military judgment.

Perhaps the War Department had information of the Rebel Army that would seem to have justified the attempt. I don't pretend to know anything more about it than I have gathered from General Burnside in the way I have indicated.

In after years, when General Burnside became a Senator from Rhode Island, I was employed in the Senate as telegraph operator for the Associated Press. Major Ben. Perley Poore, the correspondent, learning from me that I had served with the General, incidentally mentioned the fact to him one day, and, in less time than I take to write it, the dear old General was in my office shaking me heartily by the hand. I met him in a business way frequently during his term, but he never talked on the subject of the war to me, except in a general, pleasant way.

I further explained, to the apparent satisfaction of the General, that I should submerge the wire in the river, at night, at a certain point, and not attempt to haul it out on the Rebel shore, except under certain contingencies, that were likely to occur, and which I could make use of from the other shore. I had studied the subject carefully; indeed, from my frequent visits to the river bank, I had evolved from my fertile brain the plan to kill two birds with one stone; _i. e._, to get to see Geno, at the risk of my neck, and while there, under the protection of her father and friends, who would undoubtedly vouch for me as a good Rebel, I should be able to go about unmolested, and learn the position and, perhaps, the plans of the Rebel Army, and then trust to a fortunate combination of circumstances to go and fish up my submerged wire and tap my important news to headquarters. Any telegrapher will see that this could easily have been done by the use of the little instrument, that could be concealed between the empty lids of a big watch-case. The current, or battery, was to be supplied from the other end, and all that I had to do to secure attention, or notify the operators at Burnside's headquarters that somebody was at the other end of their wire, was to merely lift the exposed end off the ground or out of the water. I can't explain all this, but that is the fact easily substantiated. The only difficulty about the plan was in getting hold of this end of the wire without detection. This was a very serious trouble; but, as I have said, I had carefully studied the thing out, and thought it over night and day.

I will admit, for the sake of argument, that my thoughts and plans were stimulated by the hope of getting over to see Geno. In my frequent rides along the river banks in search of a good landing for my cable, I had selected a point on the other side right below the piers of the burnt railroad bridge. Those who have been there will remember an old mill that was located right on the bank, the water-wheel of which seemed to be almost on the edge of the water. From this wheel was a deep ditch, or waste-way, for the escape of the surplus water into the river. Back of the wheel there was, of course, the mill-race, which was quite deep and, like a canal, sluggish. This race, as it is called, extended in a winding way up into an unfrequented part of the town.

Now, my scheme was to watch a favorable opportunity from the Union side, and, with the connivance of our own officers, the first dark night I proposed taking a coil of that wire, and, under the pretense of escaping over the river in a boat, I should, when near the Rebel shore, drop the coil with its anchor, and make a certain signal, at which our pickets were to fire their guns as if they had discovered me and were in hot pursuit.

Of course the Rebel pickets would be expected to be on the alert all the time, and, to prevent detection, I proposed suspending the coil of wire in the water from the start, attached to a rope, which I could quickly let go, and the coil and anchor would quietly drop out of sight to the bottom.

Once on the other side, I would have to run the risk of being recognized by the Rebel officers, to whom I should undoubtedly be taken at once. I hoped that by this time I had been forgotten by my old Rebel friends.

Once safely through this gauntlet I should appeal to Captain Wells for recognition and release as a Rebel. There would be no trouble about that, you know.

Then, after looking the ground over, I could, at my leisure, go fishing for my coil of wire, and extend it up the mill-race either into the deserted old mill or beyond, out of the range of the pickets, and astonish the boys at Burnside's headquarters by signaling to them from the other shore. There was nothing about this plan impracticable, and General Burnside was so favorably impressed with my scheme that he heard me through with an apparently deep interest, and even suggested some changes in my project.

It did not occur to me at the time, though I learned subsequently, that one of the reasons which induced General Burnside to delay the consideration of my proposition was (very properly) to enable him to make some inquiries of my immediate officers about my past experience and supposed fitness for secret service among the Rebels. I was quietly informed of this by a friend at court.

The result of this investigation must have been satisfactory to the General. He sent after me one evening, so late that the messenger had considerable difficulty in finding me, because I was wrapped up over head and ears in my army blanket for a nightgown, so sound asleep that I did not hear my name called.

As all of us were lying around loose in that shape, looking like mummies of the same age, he took the very great risk of resuscitating the wrong one, when the Orderly gave notice that "The General is waiting for that Telegraft Signal fellow to report."

Everybody within hearing at once took a part in the search, and I was rooted out of my snug corner by the order to "Git out of here damned sudden; you're wanted at headquarters." This sort of a summons aroused the curiosity of every old soldier that happened to be around, and that's saying a good deal.

It's only those who have lived among the old soldiers (I mean those regular chaps who have been in the service twenty or thirty years) that can understand fully what is meant by exciting their curiosity with an order for a comrade to report to headquarters.

They looked upon me with various expressions of pity, contempt, envy and wonder. The general impression was that I was getting into some kind of trouble, and one comrade sympathetically whispered words of cheer and comfort; another bade me "Good-by," etc.