The window was altogether the best point, provided I could get use of it, because I could sit back in the shadow, and out of view of any person outside, and be seen by the use of the telescope, especially at night.

With my hand, or with a wand or a fan, I was supposed to seat myself in that room, my feet cocked up on a window-sill, smoking a cigar and nonchalantly signal or spell out this one-two alphabet by the waves of a fan. The objection to that was that it was wintertime, and fans were not necessary, but it was generally understood that I was to use anything that happened to suit best, and to change as often as possible--merely to show a right and left motion was all that was necessary.

Circumstances may arise in the future in which some such conditions may be availed of, as they were in our war on more than one occasion.

Exactly what I was to telegraph back did not occur to me. In fact General Burnside did not seem to attach very much importance to this part of the plan, which was more attractive to my own and my chum's mind than his decoy matter.

It was my intention to travel at will, through my Rebel friends in the town, and, if possible, get into the lines even to General Lee's headquarters, and hear their telegraph instruments, and if anything important was learned I should at once "open my half-shutter" and watch for the open half-shutter in the Lacey House. When they were ready to "receive" both shutters were to be opened, and as long as both remained opened they were "getting me down" in black and white. In case of the loss of a signal or a word, an attempt would be made to close one shutter, when I would see that I was to stop until signaled to "go ahead" by the opening of both shutters again.

It is not to be understood that it was expected of me to "spell out," by this motion system, every word that I might want to communicate over the river. There is scarcely a word in general use that was not abbreviated by the phonetic spelling and pronunciation, so that every message became a blind cipher, excepting to those who understood the phonetic system.

For instance, the long word "communicate," which I have just used here, is reduced to two simple letters, as follows:

Communicate km. Communication kmn.

Communicating kmg. Communicated kmd.

The suffixes ing, ed, tion and ty to this word, and wherever they occur, were shortened by the use of the letters g, d, n, and y, respectively. I can "communicate" with a flag in shorthand as rapidly and as correctly at a distance of twenty miles as our official reporters will at twenty feet, and if the weather does not permit the use of flags, a battery of guns can be made to "km" as far as they can be heard, in a storm or in the dark.

For my own especial purpose, we had arranged a few additional signals by which I was to quickly "km" with headquarters. For instance, the important information that I had been successful in spreading the false information was to be known by a continuous repetition of the signals "sk, sk, sk," signifying successful.

I felt that I could with perfect safety to myself stand on the bank of the river, and, while apparently using my handkerchief in an ordinary way, make these two simple signs so that it would be readily understood.

If I signaled re-rd, it meant General Lee was in Richmond; or Lt. was not Lieutenant, as would be supposed by any signal officer, but meant Longstreet; while a simple X was for Stonewall Jackson. Enh was "enough."

Before everything was in readiness, I was looking for an opportunity to see General Burnside and tell him of the character of our arrangements.

I was disappointed in not seeing him for a couple of days; my recollection is that he was in Washington. Any way, I felt at the time that he was not as much interested in the matter as I had supposed he would be.

Finally, I succeeded in seeing the General, but not alone; indeed, he was seldom, if ever, without some sort of company. When he stopped his conversation long enough to hear me, he simply said, in his polite, kindly way: "Well, you come in and see me again, won't you?"

Of course that settled it for that interview, and I had to go off disappointed. I watched for the next opportunity, and when I sent a little note to his room to say that I was ready, he surprised me by sending out to see me one of his Staff officers, who, holding my note in his open hand, came up to me and began to explain that the General had directed him to see me, etc.

This officer said, very kindly: "The General has informed me of your proposed service, and has directed me to afford you every facility possible. What can I do for you? He is very much occupied just now."

That was very kind, but it was not exactly satisfactory, as I wanted to talk to the General; however, I told this officer I wanted to cross the river below the town, under the guise of a deserter, and, once over, to act as I should find best. He heard of my proposed signaling with amazement, and after explaining his grave doubts about the safety of such an undertaking, he told me, with a significant confidence for such a short acquaintance: "The army is to move in a few days right over into the town precisely as we did before. The General, you know, is determined to make a success of his former plan, but he especially desires that the Rebels should be led to believe that he proposed to cross below. Therefore, he directed me to say that the only directions he had were that the enemy should be made to believe this, and directed me to confer with you as to the best method of accomplishing this result."

He went on further to detail a plan of crossing the army at a place called Hoop-pole Ferry, and said they would make a demonstration in that direction, but they would cross into the town again.

It never once occurred to my innocent heart that this smooth-talking Yankee officer was lying to me. They did not intend to cross at the town, and he knew it. At this very time General Burnside was planning his campaign to cross above the town some distance, at Banks or United States Fords, and he was only prevented from doing so by the "stick-in-the-mud."

In stating so positively that he intended to redeem the army and "lead his own Ninth Corps" up that hill, right through town as before, he purposely and, perhaps, wisely deceived me, and I was in turn to further deceive, or attempt to deceive the Rebels by making them think he was to cross twenty miles below.

After I had gotten under my blanket, the night following the interview with General Burnside's Staff-officer, I instinctively felt it was my last peaceful sleep under the protection of the old flag.

It was then, when alone with myself, that I calmly and dispassionately thought over the entire matter.

I will admit that I was a little bit cowardly when the time neared for working this case in the dark. I am not afraid, however, to put myself down here in cold type as being afraid of the Rebels. I may be permitted to say, that no one soldier, in all that army, carried a greater risk than myself in being there.

It will be understood the prime motive with me was a longing desire to see Geno. For her dear sake I was willing to risk my life, knowing, if I were successful, I should win promotion and Geno at the same time.

I recalled, with feelings of intense gratification, the Staff-officer's words: "We shall cross into the town again as we did before."

It occurred to my dull comprehension that if this were to be so what would be the use in my taking any risk on myself to find Geno, by going over into the hands of the enemy, in advance of the army.

I reasoned very clearly, the more I thought over it, that it would be decidedly safer, and in every way better to answer my purpose, to ride a horse over the pontoons under the protection of our cannon than to go over alone only a day or two in advance.

General Burnside's Staff-officer, in thus lying to me about the crossing, unintentionally over-reached himself. But I had said to the General that I would go, and all the preparations had been made to signal. I could not, therefore, decently back down on my own proposal.

I was a coward both ways--afraid to go and afraid not to go.

I concluded, by way of compromise, to do as a great many of our Generals have done, who were also afraid sometimes--I would procrastinate, in hopes the army would move before I did--I would also make a "demonstration" below town, but hope to get into town by the convenient method of the pontoons.

The scene of this adventure is, of course, along the Rappahannock, the season that of the dreadful winter of 1862-3, on Stafford Heights, once the farm of Mrs. Washington, the mother of the Father of his Country.

The scenery was changing, like that on the stage, from the "snowy shroud that winter weaves around the dying year" to the more disagreeable mud that Virginia alone can supply, and that so effectively tied up everything that does not go on wings. In addition to the innumerable enemies in the front, in the rear, and on the flanks, that the old Army of the Potomac had to contend with, one of the most obstinate was the mud.

It was arranged that I should be quietly furnished with the facilities to enable me to "desert" over the river. All these arrangements were practically in my own hands. Everything that I desired was cheerfully afforded me.

During two of the coldest, most disagreeable days and nights of that memorable winter, I bivouacked with our cavalry outposts, located on the river bank some distance below the town.

I was there for the purpose of watching a favorable opportunity to desert to the other side.

That I did not go, was not to be charged to a lack of facilities. I was not in a hurry; in fact, I was hoping against hope that the whole army would move. I, at last, concluded that I should have to make a demonstration to satisfy my friends, with whom I had talked it over.

The weather was so terribly cold and rough along that river bottom that, after a few days' experience, I felt it would be a relief to get over the river, alongside of the snug camp-fires of the Rebels, which seemed to beckon me over, as an _ignis fatuus_. The Confederates were allowed camp-fires all along their picket-lines. We were not even permitted to light a match.

The Rappahannock, at the point patrolled by our cavalry, was narrow and deep, the banks on either side being abrupt and covered in most places by a close undergrowth of willow. Directly opposite, and within speaking distance, were the Rebel pickets. Their outpost camp-fires were in a little grove of saplings, so close to the bank that, from our side, we could see their every movement at night by the light of their fires, and could count the number of men laying about on the ground. We imagined that we could hear their snores, so close were they. It seemed as if we were on guard over them.

When their fires would burn low, one of the number would crawl from under his blanket, stir up the embers, put on some more wood, and again lie down to sleep in perfect security. There was no firing on picket-lines at that time.

During the daytime there would frequently be a general exchange of agreeable, but sometimes sharp, words between the pickets.

On our side there was a general order prohibiting this communication, but, when the officers were not around, we talked more freely with the Rebels than we would have dared with the sentry on the beat adjoining our own.

It was only necessary to call "Johnny!" to get a quick "Hello," or if Johnny called first it was "Hello, Yank."

But little, if any, reliable information passes through the lines in this way. The pickets out on the line, as a rule, know less about their own army than anyone else. Of course a stranger, or even a soldier unknown to the officers, is not permitted on the line.

[Illustration: CAVALRY PICKET ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK.]

What I am relating is an actual experience from real life in the picket lines.

These incidents resulted in bringing about some remarkable developments that, in the days and months and years that followed, produced a sadly sweet influence on the lives, not only of myself, but upon that of some famous Confederate officers and the family of Captain Wells; but to tell the story of the "other side," at this time, is to be left for a future occasion. This is to be a straight narrative of one experience.

Picture to yourselves a stormy, snowy night. The men of the relief to which I had been temporarily attached, who were to be called, could not be found, because the snow had actually covered them out of sight.

Soldiers who lay down on the ground to sleep during a snow storm wrap themselves entirely with the blankets, which the snow soon covers.

Strange as it may seem, we slept more comfortably and warmly when thus shrouded under the snow.

The night I had selected to cross to the enemy was of this kind. In the early part, I had slept sweetly under this white blanket of snow, and, when called up to take my position, I felt loth to stir, with such first thoughts, perhaps, as a criminal who is awakened from sound sleep on the morning of his execution.

At that time, in addition to two heavy flannel shirts and drawers, we usually wore two complete suits of fatigue uniform, one right over the other. The boots were large, and came high. Over the leather we learned, in very cold weather, to draw an old woolen sock. If the reader has never tried this, he will be surprised to see how much warmth even an additional cotton sock adds when drawn over the outside of a boot. It is equal to three pairs inside.