any service for which he might be selected.

This man was Timothy Webster, a faithful officer, a true friend, and an
ardent patriot.

I had known this man for years. He had been in my employ for a long
time, and had been engaged upon operations of a varied and diverse
nature, consequently I knew precisely what his capabilities were, and
how entirely he could be trusted. Though not a man of great
enlightenment, he was gifted with a large amount of natural shrewdness,
which enabled him to successfully meet any emergency which might arise.
From his association with people in the various walks of life, he had
acquired that habit of easy adaptation which made him appear, and feel,
perfectly at home in almost any society, whether in the drawing-room or
the tavern, in the marts of trade, or laboring at the plow.

From my knowledge of Timothy Webster, and my confidence in his wisdom
and reliability, I had chosen him to be the bearer of the dispatches to
Mr. Lincoln. I therefore called him into my office and explained to him
the nature of the duties he was to perform, the possible dangers he
would encounter, and the importance of the trust that was to be reposed
in him, and when I had concluded, I asked:

"Timothy, knowing what you do of the task before you, will you undertake
its performance?"

"I understand all perfectly," he replied, drawing himself up to his full
height, while his eyes flashed with a patriotic fire, "I know that my
country demands my services, and that, if it shall cost me my life, I am
ready to perform my full duty."

The preparations for his departure did not occupy a very long time; the
services of Miss Kate Warne, my female superintendent, were requested,
and in a few minutes the important dispatches, some twelve in number,
were securely sewed between the linings of his coat collar, and in the
body of his waistcoat, and Timothy Webster was on his way to the capital
of the country.

[Illustration: A COLORED CONTRABAND]

CHAPTER VII.

_Webster on his Way to the Capital.--Wrecked Trains and Broken
Bridges.--An Adventure with a Cavalryman.--Rebel Emissary.--President
Lincoln and Timothy Webster._

Everywhere along the route the greatest excitement prevailed, and the
people were in a state of wildest commotion. A rumor had spread
throughout the country that the government, indignant at the riotous
conduct of the Baltimoreans, had ordered the guns of Fort McHenry to
fire upon the city, that the bombardment was now going on, and that half
the town was reduced to ashes. This rumor was false, as Webster learned
on arriving in Philadelphia, although even in the staid old Quaker City
there was manifest a degree of excitement scarcely to be expected in a
community so sedate and easy-going as Philadelphians usually are.

Leaving the train at Philadelphia, Webster made his way through the
crowded streets to the center of the city. He deemed it best to take
counsel with some of the railroad and express officials, with whom he
was very well acquainted, by reason of his connection with the discovery
of the conspiracy to assassinate President Lincoln in Baltimore in the
month of February immediately preceding.

At that time Webster had been enrolled as a member of a volunteer
company of cavalry at Perrymansville, in Maryland, and, gaining the
confidence of his officers, had assisted in discovering the plans of the
conspirators, and partly through his efforts, I had been successful in
frustrating their murderous designs. This operation had brought him in
close association with several gentlemen who were connected with the
railroad and express companies, whose travel lay between Philadelphia
and the now riotous and isolated city of Baltimore. As he was walking
leisurely down Chestnut street he was accosted by Mr. Dunn, a gentleman
who was connected with a leading express company in the city, and who
was now upon his return from a visit to the Philadelphia, Wilmington and
Baltimore depot. After an interchange of salutations, Webster inquired
of Mr. Dunn the condition of affairs in and around Baltimore.

"Very bad, indeed," replied that gentleman; "the bridges are all down,
and the tracks have been torn up all along the road from Perrysville to
Baltimore. The telegraph-wires have been cut, and no communications have
been received from Baltimore or Washington except through couriers. The
roads are guarded with soldiery, whose sympathies are with the
rebellion, and it is almost impossible for any one who cannot identify
himself as a Southern man to pass the guards who are stationed along
the highways."

"It does not look very favorable for my reaching Washington to-morrow,
then?" said Webster, inquiringly.

"No, sir. I am afraid that you will find it difficult, if not dangerous,
to attempt such a journey, particularly by the way of Baltimore; and
perhaps you had better delay your departure until it can be more safely
accomplished," said Mr. Dunn.

"It may be as you say," replied Webster, "but I left Chicago for
Washington, and my line of travel was laid out through Baltimore. I will
obey my orders to the letter, and I will arrive in Washington to-morrow
night, or lose my life in attempting it!"

"I see that you are determined to go," said Mr. Dunn, "and further
argument would be of no avail; but I assure you, that you cannot travel
further by rail than Perrysville; you may succeed in getting across the
river to Havre de Grace, but after that you will have to rely entirely
upon yourself."

"Never fear for me," replied Webster, with a smile, "I will get through
all right, I feel confident. I will have but little time now to catch
the train, Mr. Dunn, and if you will be kind enough to telegraph to Mr.
Pinkerton according to my directions, I will esteem it a great favor."

"Certainly, Webster; anything I can do for you, or Mr. Pinkerton, will
be done cheerfully."

Writing out a message, informing me of his arrival in Philadelphia and
of his intentions, he requested Mr. Dunn to forward the same, and then,
bidding that gentleman good-bye, he made his way to the Baltimore depot,
and was soon on the road to that city.

As the train went speeding along upon its journey, Webster had ample
time for the consideration of his plans. He was pretty well acquainted
with the country between Havre de Grace and Baltimore, and had no fear
of losing his way, even if the journey must be made by foot. He was
impressed, however, with the necessity of using the utmost caution.
While he did not fear for his own personal safety--for fear was an
element entirely unknown to him--he realized the importance of his
mission too well to rashly imperil its success by any useless exposure,
or unnecessary risk. To reach Washington, however, he was determined,
and to accomplish that object no danger would be too great, no hardship
too severe. He nevertheless felt that he must rely solely upon himself,
that he would have no one to advise him, and his own discretion and
wisdom would have to be depended upon under all circumstances. Arriving
at the Perrysville station, he found that the train could go no further,
and that, to reach Havre de Grace, upon the opposite side of the
Susquehanna River, the passengers would be required to take small boats
and be rowed over, after which each man must make his way as best he
could.

As the boat touched the land Webster sprang ashore, and, going directly
to the hotel, inquired for the landlord. He found that gentleman engaged
in earnest conversation with an individual who at once instinctively
awakened the suspicions of my operative. This gentleman was a tall,
fine-looking man, with the erect carriage and self-reliant air of the
soldier, but there was something in the nervousness of his manner, and
in the furtive glances of his eyes, which convinced Webster that he was
concealing something and would bear watching.

Approaching the spot where the two men were conversing, Webster at once
addressed the landlord in a hearty manner. "Landlord, I must get to
Baltimore to-day. How am I going to do it?"

"I do not know," replied the hotel-keeper, "this gentleman is anxious to
do the same thing, but I am afraid I cannot help either of you."

The gentleman thus referred to turned to Webster, saying:

"Yes, I am very anxious to get through. I am a bearer of dispatches to
the British Consul at Washington, and it is of the utmost importance
that they should be delivered at once."

While he was speaking a man drove up to the front of the hotel with a
fine, strong team of horses attached to a covered road wagon, and
throwing the reins across the back of his horses, leaped lightly to the
ground.

"Here is a man who can help you," said the landlord, as the new-comer
entered the room; and then he called out:

"Harris, come here!"

The driver of the team came over to where the three men were standing,
and the landlord at once made known to him the wishes of Webster and the
messenger of the British Consul.

"Harris, these gentlemen want to get to Baltimore to-day. Do you think
you can manage it for them?"

The man addressed as Harris gazed at Webster and his companion in a
scrutinizing manner, and finally, apparently satisfied with his
investigation, signified his willingness to make the attempt, provided
the price he demanded, which was fifty dollars, was agreed to.

Both men assented to the payment of the sum named, and after dinner had
been partaken of, the two men took their seats in the vehicle, the
driver cracked his whip, and they were upon their way.

"I cannot promise to take you through to Baltimore," remarked the
driver, after they had started; "I was stopped twice on the road
yesterday, and I may not be able to pass the guards to-day."

"Do the best you can," said Webster, good-naturedly, "and we will take
the risk of a safe arrival."

Webster then turned to his companion, who had remained silent and
watchful ever since they had set out, and endeavored to engage him in
conversation. The bearer of dispatches, however, was very little
inclined to be sociable, and Webster had great difficulty in breaking
through the reserve which he resolved to maintain.

The further they journeyed, the more Webster became convinced that this
man was not what he assumed to be, but he vailed his suspicions
carefully, and appeared as frank and cordial in his manner as though
they were brothers.

Nothing worthy of note transpired upon the route until the party arrived
at the outskirts of Perrymansville, which had been the scene of
Webster's first experience in military service, and where, a few months
before, he had been a member of a company of cavalry. They were trotting
along quietly, and as the day was balmy and bright the ride was quite an
enjoyable one, and for a moment the detective forgot the grave duties
which he had undertaken and the dangers that might surround him, and
gave himself up to the full enjoyment of the scenes around him. His
pleasant reflections were short-lived, however, for just as they were
entering the town they saw a mounted cavalryman approaching, who, as he
reached the carriage, commanded them to halt.

The driver suddenly pulled up his horses, and then the soldier, in a
tone of authority: "Who are you, and where are you going?"

"We are residents of Baltimore," answered Webster, not at all dismayed
by the stern appearance and manner of his soldierly interlocutor, "and
we are endeavoring to get home."

"You will have to go with me," replied the soldier, decisively, "you
can't go any further without permission."

Here was a detention as unwelcome as it was unexpected, but Webster had
recognized the uniform worn by the soldier as that of the very company
of cavalry he had previously been a member of, and a duplicate of one in
which he had previously arrayed himself. The man who had accosted him,
however, was unknown to him, and he could, therefore, do nothing but
submit quietly to his orders and await a favorable operation of
circumstances.

As Webster glanced casually at his companion, the British messenger, he
was surprised at the change which was apparent in the expression of his
features. Instead of the calm, dignified air of watchful repose which he
had observed before, his face had grown pale, and there was such an
unmistakable evidence of fear about the man, that Webster's suspicions
were confirmed, and come what might he resolved to ascertain the nature
of his business before they parted company.

They had traveled but a short distance under the escort of their guard
when they met another man dressed in a similar uniform, and evidently a
member of the same company, and as Webster gazed at the new-comer he
experienced a sensation of relief and joy, for in him he recognized an
old companion in arms.

As this man approached nearer, Webster called out from the carriage, in
a cheery voice:

"Hello, Taylor! how are you?"

Thus suddenly accosted, the soldier rode up to the vehicle, and after a
momentary glance at the features of the detective, he reached forth his
hand and cordially saluted him.

"Why, Webster, how do you do? The boys said you would not come back, now
that the war had commenced, but I knew better, and I am glad to see
you."

The face of the reputed Englishman cleared in an instant, as he found
that his companion was among friends, and this effect was not lost upon
Webster, who had been furtively observing him. He turned his attention,
however, to the soldier who had addressed him.

"Oh, yes," he replied, "I have come back; and my friend here and I are
anxious to get to Baltimore as soon as possible."

"That will be all right," said the soldier; and then, turning to his
comrade, he said: "These men are all right, you will permit them to
pass."

After a few minutes spent in a pleasant conversation, the soldier handed
to Webster a pass which would prevent further interruption to their
journey, and with a mutual pull at a flask with which Webster had
provided himself before starting, the parties separated, and they
proceeded on their way.

This little incident produced a marked change in the demeanor of
Webster's companion, and on being informed that the soldiers were
Southerners, and not Federals, he seemed quite relieved.

By the time they were approaching the suburbs of Baltimore the stranger
had grown exceedingly communicative, and upon Webster hinting to him
that he also was engaged in the cause of the South, he without
hesitation informed my operative that he was similarly employed, and
that he was at present carrying dispatches to prominent Southern
sympathizers then residing in Washington.

As he communicated this important item of information Webster grasped
him warmly by the hand, and greeted him as a fellow-patriot, after
which, with rare good humor, they cemented their acquaintance and
confidence with a friendly draught from the spirit bottle.

Several times on their journey they were halted by the guards along the
roads, but the talismanic pass obtained at Perrymansville avoided all
questioning, and gained for the travelers a safe passage to their
destination. Arriving safely at the outskirts of Baltimore, the two men
left the carriage, and walking a short distance, they entered a street
car, and were driven to a retired hotel, where Webster had frequently
stopped when in the city on former occasions. Here they engaged quarters
for the night, and Webster's companion had by this time formed such an
attachment for his fellow-traveler that communicating rooms were
engaged, and after partaking of a hearty repast, the two men lighted
their cigars and strolled out through the city.

There were still many evidences of the riotous affrays which had but
lately taken place. The people were in a feverish state of excitement,
the drinking saloons and the corridors of the hotels were filled with
crowds of excited men, each of whom seemed to vie with the other in
giving loud expressions of their opinions, and of denouncing the attempt
of the government to transport armed troops through the streets of a
peaceful city. Ever mindful of the important duty devolving upon him,
Webster wisely forebore to engage in any conversation with those whom he
met, and among the number of the most outspoken of the Southern
sympathizers were many whom he had previously met, and to whom he was
known as an adherent of the South. At an early hour he and his newly
found companion returned to their hotel, and shortly afterward retired
for the night.

Arising early on the following morning, they found the same difficulty
was to be encountered that had been successfully overcome at the
commencement of their journey. The railroads between Baltimore and
Washington had also been torn up, so as to render the running of the
trains an impossibility. This fact necessitated the procuring of a team
that would convey them to the capital; but this time Webster's
acquaintance with the proprietors of the hotel, and several of the
permanent guests of the house, enabled them without difficulty or delay
to secure a pair of horses and a road wagon, with a trusty driver, who
guaranteed to carry them to Washington for the same amount which had
been paid upon the other portion of their journey, and at an early hour
they were upon the road to the seat of government.

Meantime Webster had been seriously considering his course of action
with regard to his fellow-passenger. That he was an agent of the
Confederacy he had already admitted, and that he was the bearer of
dispatches to prominent sympathizers with the South who were now living
in Washington, was also well known to the detective. How, therefore, to
arrange his plans, so that these papers would be intercepted and the
ambassador detained without arousing his suspicion? It must be
accomplished so that no delay should result to his own journey, as he
had resolved that his dispatches must be delivered that day. Just before
starting out an idea occurred to him, and requesting the driver to wait
a few minutes, as he had forgotten something in his room, he re-entered
the hotel, and going to the room they had occupied the evening before,
he hurriedly wrote a note which he folded up and placed in his pocket.
The note was as follows:

    "TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

     "My companion is an emissary of the Confederacy, carrying
     dispatches to Southern sympathizers in Washington. Apprehend
     him, but do so discreetly and without compromising me.

                                            T. W."

He then descended the stairs, and entering the wagon, they were driven
away towards Washington. The day was exceedingly warm, and the horses,
unused to long journeys, early began to show signs of weakness, but they
kept on without incident, save an occasional question from a passer-by
as to their destination, and about noon arrived at a hotel known as the
"Twelve-Mile House," so called from its being located at that distance
from Washington.

Here the party halted for dinner, and while engaged at their repast
Webster noticed at an opposite table a friend of years ago, who wore the
uniform of a Lieutenant of infantry. Fortunately, however, the officer
did not appear to recognize him, and during the progress of the dinner
Webster kept his face hidden as much as possible from his new-found
friend. As the Lieutenant ceased eating and arose from the table,
Webster, who also had about completed the bill of fare, arose, and
excusing himself to the driver and his companion, passed out into the
hallway and met the officer face to face. Cordial greetings were
interchanged, and in a few minutes Webster had detailed to his friend
the circumstances attending his meeting with the so-called British
messenger, and his suspicions concerning them. It was not long before a
plan had been arranged for the carrying out of the project of arresting
the pseudo Englishman without occasioning the slightest suspicion to
fall upon Timothy Webster, and shortly afterwards the Lieutenant mounted
his horse and rode off in the direction of Washington.

After smoking their after-dinner cigars, Webster and his companion again
resumed their journey. By this time they had become thoroughly
acquainted, and they enlivened their drive with many a pleasing anecdote
of experience or of invention, until they came in sight of Washington
city. Here a difficulty awaited them, apparently unexpected by both
travelers. A Lieutenant at the head of eight men emerged from a house by
the wayside, and in a voice of authority directed the driver to stop his
horses, after which he advanced to the vehicle and saluted the occupants
with the utmost courtesy, saying:

"Gentlemen, I am sorry to discommode you, but I have orders to intercept
all persons entering the city, and hold them until they can
satisfactorily account for themselves. You will be kind enough to
consider yourselves under arrest and follow me."

Blank astonishment was depicted on the countenances of both Webster and
his companion, but realizing that to parley would be useless, the two
men dismounted and followed the lieutenant and his men into the
building, which proved to be a military guard-house.

Here they were separated and conducted to different apartments, where
they were securely locked in, Webster's companion standing outside of
the door of the room in which Webster was placed, and after witnessing
the operation which confined Webster a prisoner, he was conducted to the
room assigned to him, and the key was turned upon him.

In a few minutes afterwards Webster was quietly released by the
Lieutenant who had effected his arrest, and who was none other than the
friend to whom he had given the information. In less than half an hour
thereafter my detective was ascending the steps of the White House,
inquiring for his Excellency, the President of the United States.

Having also been provided with a letter to the President's private
secretary, Mr. Nicolay, Webster was soon ushered into the presence of
Mr. Lincoln, to whom he made known the nature of his business, and
taking off his coat and vest, he removed the dispatches and letters, and
handed them to the President, who had been silently watching his
movements with a great deal of amused interest.

"You have brought quite a mail with you, Mr. Webster," said the
President, "more, perhaps, than it would be quite safe to attempt to
carry another time."

"Yes, sir," replied Webster. "I don't think I would like to carry so
much through Baltimore another time."

The President carefully looked over the papers he had just received, and
finding that they required more consideration than could be given to
them at that time, he turned to Webster and said:

"Mr. Webster, I have a Cabinet conference this evening, and I will not
be able to give these matters my attention until to-morrow. Come to me
at ten o'clock and I will see you at that time."

Again thanking the detective for the service he had so successfully
rendered, he bade him good evening, and Webster sought his hotel,
thoroughly exhausted with his journey, and soon after he was sound
asleep.

The next morning, on repairing to the White House, he was at once
admitted, and the President greeted him with marked evidences of
cordiality.

"Mr. Webster, you have rendered the country an invaluable service. The
bearer of dispatches who was arrested last evening by your efforts,
proved, as you suspected, to be an emissary of the South, and the
letters found upon him disclose a state of affairs here in Washington
quite alarming. Several prominent families here are discovered to be in
regular communication with the Southern leaders, and are furnishing
them with every item of information. Until this time we had only a
suspicion of this, but suspicion has now resolved itself into a
certainty. You have performed your duty well, and before many days there
will be an account demanded of some of these people which they are far
from expecting."

"I am glad to be of any service," replied Webster; "and I have done
nothing more than my duty. If you have any further commands for me, Mr.
President, I am ready to obey them."

"Very well," said the President; "take these telegrams, and when you
have reached a point where communication is possible, send them to
General McClellan, at Columbus, Ohio; they are important and must be
sent without delay. Also telegraph to Mr. Pinkerton to come to
Washington at once; his services are, I think, greatly needed by the
government at this time."

Rolling up the papers which he received, Webster placed them in the
center of a hollow cane, which he carried; then, replacing the handle,
and promising to attend faithfully to the duties assigned him, he left
the executive mansion.

CHAPTER VIII.

_Timothy Webster in Washington.--The Return to Philadelphia.--I go to
the Capital.--An Important Letter._

After leaving the White House, Timothy Webster went immediately in quest
of a conveyance that would enable him to reach Baltimore without
unnecessary delay. He expected to encounter greater difficulties in
obtaining what he desired here in Washington than he had met with in
Baltimore, for the reason that in the capital he was a comparative
stranger, while in the latter city he had numerous friends, who believed
him to be in sympathy with the Confederacy, and whose assistance he
could rely upon on that account. His only hope, therefore, lay in his
being able to find some friendly Baltimorean, upon whose influence he
could depend to procure him a mode of conveyance for his return. Having
arrived late on the preceding evening and being terribly fatigued by the
journey he had made, Webster had retired almost immediately after he
reached his hotel, and consequently he was surprised at the busy scenes
which greeted him now. The capital was swarming with soldiers and
civilians. Regiments continually arriving and were being assigned to
quarters and positions around the city, and the streets were filled with
eager and excited multitudes. The position which Maryland had assumed
was vehemently discussed everywhere, and the riotous conduct of the
Baltimoreans was loudly denounced by Northern men, and secretly
applauded by those whose sympathies were with the cause of the South.
The prompt action of General Butler, with his regiment of Massachusetts
soldiers, who followed quickly after the sixth, in going by boat
directly to Annapolis, in order to reach Washington without hindrance or
delay, and his patriotic and determined response to those in authority,
who sought to induce him to change his plans for reaching the capital,
were everywhere warmly commended. There could be no doubt that the North
was thoroughly aroused, and were dreadfully in earnest in their
determination to suppress a rebellion which they believed to be
causeless, unlawful and threatening the future of a great country.

As Webster walked along Pennsylvania Avenue, carefully scanning the
faces of every one he met in the hope of discovering some one whom he
knew and who might be of service to him, he recognized the driver who
had brought him from Baltimore on the day before, and who started in
astonishment at finding the man whom he had last seen a prisoner in the
hands of United States troops now walking the streets free and
unattended. This man was accompanied by three others, with two of whom
Webster was slightly acquainted, and he at once advanced toward them and
greeted them cordially.

"Why, Webster, is that you?" inquired the foremost of the party, a
well-known "sympathizer" of the name of John Maull. "We heard you had
been taken prisoner--how did you get out so soon?"

"That is easily accounted for," said Webster, with a laugh; "I was
simply arrested on suspicion, and when they could find nothing about me
that was at all suspicious, they were compelled to let me go."

"This country is coming upon strange times," remarked a sallow-faced
Baltimorean who boasted of having been one of the most prominent of the
rioters a few days before, "when a man can be arrested in this way and
have no means of redress."

"That is very true," replied Webster, "but we will have a decided change
before long, or I am very much mistaken. 'Uncle Jeff' means business,
and there will be long faces in Washington before many days."

"Give me your hand, old boy," exclaimed Maull heartily, "you are of the
right stripe; but don't talk so loud; let us go around the corner to a
quiet little place where we can talk without danger."

The party repaired to a drinking saloon, in a retired neighborhood, and
on entering it they were greeted warmly by several parties who were
standing before the bar. Webster was immediately introduced to these
gentlemen, and it was not long before he had firmly established himself
in their good opinions as a devoted friend of the South.

The conversation soon became general, and the most extravagant ideas
were expressed with regard to the wonderful achievements that were
expected of the Southern soldiers, and no doubt was entertained that the
Yankees, as they called the Northern men, would be quickly vanquished by
the chivalrous armies of the "Sunny South."

To all of these suggestions Webster yielded a ready assent, and not one
among the number was more pronounced in his belief in the needs of the
Southern cause than was my trusty operative, who, in the cane he
flourished so conspicuously, carried important dispatches from the
President of the United States to a General in command of Northern
soldiers.

All the time, however, he was growing very restive under the enforced
delay in his journey, and seeking a favorable opportunity during a lull
in the conversation, he turned to the driver of the wagon and inquired
of him when he was going to return to Baltimore.

"Not for a day or two, at least," replied the man.

"That is very bad," said Webster. "I must get there this evening; it is
of the utmost importance that I should do so."

At this one of the party approached Webster and informed him that he
was going back that day and had engaged a conveyance for that purpose,
and as there was room enough for two, he would be most happy to have his
company. Webster at once accepted the invitation, and having thus
relieved his anxiety upon the point of reaching Baltimore, he joined
heartily in the conversation that was going on around him. No one, to
have heard him, would doubt for a moment his loyalty to the South, or
his firm belief in the eventual triumph of her armies.

After remaining in the saloon for some time, Webster noticed that the
men were becoming intoxicated, and fearing that they would become noisy
and probably get into trouble, he suggested to the gentleman with whom
he was to drive to Baltimore the propriety of leaving the rest to their
enjoyment while they arranged matters for their departure. His advice
was at once accepted, and the two men bade their associates farewell and
repaired to the hotel, where they had their dinner, and about two
o'clock they were upon their journey. Webster's fears were proven to be
well-founded, for as they were passing the locality where they had spent
the morning, they saw their former companions between a file of
soldiers, and there was little doubt that they had allowed their
libations to overcome their judgments, and that they would be allowed to
recover their reason in a guard-house.

The journey was made without event, the carriage and driver being
apparently very well known along the route, and Webster arrived in
Baltimore late that evening. He was desirous of pushing on without
delay, as it was important that the dispatches which he carried should
be forwarded at once, and he therefore went immediately to the hotel he
had occupied when he first arrived in the city. Requesting the landlord
to use his best efforts to procure him a conveyance to Havre de Grace,
he sat down to his supper, and did ample justice to a plenteous repast.
When he had finished the landlord entered the room and informed him that
he had succeeded in providing a team for his service, but that grave
doubts were entertained whether he would succeed in reaching his
destination. Expressing his willingness to assume any responsibility of
that kind, Webster bade his entertainer good-bye, and entering the
wagon, he started upon his midnight journey to Havre de Grace.

Again fortune favored him, and although repeatedly halted, he was able
to give such a straightforward account of himself that they were allowed
to proceed, and he arrived in Havre de Grace in time for breakfast.
Crossing the river, he went directly to the headquarters of Colonel
Dare, who was in charge of the Union troops at Perrysville, and
requested that officer to forward the telegram to General McClellan at
once. This the Colonel promised to do, and in a few minutes the
important message was flying over the wires to its destination at
Columbus, Ohio, and the President's request for my appearance at
Washington followed soon after, and was received by me in due time.

Recognizing the importance of the call, I lost no time in answering the
dispatch of Mr. Lincoln, and started at once on my journey to
Washington, accompanied only by a trusty member of my force. Before
leaving I left orders that should I fail to meet with Webster upon the
way he should be directed to await my return in the city of Pittsburg.

On my arrival at Perrysville I found that a mode of communication had
been hurriedly established with Washington, by means of a boat which
sailed down the Chesapeake Bay and landed their passengers at Annapolis,
from which point the railroad travel to Washington was uninterrupted.

Arriving at the capital I found a condition of affairs at once peculiar
and embarrassing, and the city contained a strange admixture of
humanity, both patriotic and dangerous. Here were gathered the rulers of
the nation and those who were seeking its destruction. The streets were
filled with soldiers, armed and eager for the fray; officers and
orderlies were seen galloping from place to place; the tramp of armed
men was heard on every side, and strains of martial music filled the
air. Here, too, lurked the secret enemy, who was conveying beyond the
lines the coveted information of every movement made or contemplated.
Men who formerly occupied places of dignity, power and trust were now
regarded as objects of suspicion, whose loyalty was impeached and whose
actions it was necessary to watch. Aristocratic ladies, who had
previously opened the doors of their luxurious residences to those high
in office and who had hospitably entertained the dignitaries of the
land, were now believed to be in sympathy with the attempt to overthrow
the country, and engaged in clandestine correspondence with Southern
leaders. The criminal classes poured in from all quarters, and almost
every avenue of society was penetrated by these lawless and unscrupulous
hordes. An adequate idea can be formed of the transformation which had
been effected within a few short weeks in this city of national
government.

On the day following my arrival I wended my way to the White House and
sought an interview with the President. Around the executive mansion
everything was in a state of activity and bustle. Messengers were
running frantically hither and thither; officers in uniform were
gathered in clusters, engaged in animated discussions of contemplated
military operations; department clerks were bustling about, and added to
these was a crowd of visitors, all anxious, like myself, to obtain an
interview with the Chief Executive.

I was not required to wait an unusual length of time, and I was soon
ushered into the presence of Mr. Lincoln, who greeted me cordially and
introduced me to the several members of the Cabinet who were engaged
with him. I was at once informed that the object in sending for me was
that the authorities had for some time entertained the idea of
organizing a secret-service department of the government, with the view
of ascertaining the social, political and patriotic status of the
numerous suspected persons in and around the city. As yet, no definite
plans had been adopted, and I was requested to detail my views upon the
subject, in order that the matter might be intelligently considered, and
such action taken as would lead to definite and satisfactory results. I
accordingly stated to them the ideas which I entertained upon the
subject, as fully and concisely as I was able to do at the time, and,
after I had concluded, I took my departure, with the understanding that
I would receive further communications from them in a few days.

It was very evident to me, however, that in the confusion and excitement
which were necessarily incident to the novel and perplexing condition of
affairs then existing, that anything approaching to a systematized
organization or operation would be for a time impossible. The necessity
for war had come so suddenly upon a peaceful community that there had
been as yet but little time for thorough preparation or system. The
raising of a large army, with all the various contingencies of
uniforming, arming and drilling; the furnishing of supplies, and the
assigning of quarters, were occupying the attention of the rulers of the
government, and I felt confident that I would be required to wait a
longer time than I could then conveniently spare from my business, ere I
would be favored with any definite instructions from those in authority.
This opinion was fully confirmed, after several unsuccessful attempts to
obtain satisfying particulars from the heads of several of the
departments, and leaving my address with the secretary of the President,
I returned to Philadelphia.

I had directed, prior to leaving Chicago, that all important
communications addressed to me should be forwarded to that city, and on
my arrival there I found a number of letters which required immediate
attention.

Among the number was the following, which had been somewhat delayed in
its transmission.

                                        "COLUMBUS, OHIO,
                                           April 24, 1861.
     "ALLAN PINKERTON, Esq.,
                "Dear Sir:--

     "I wish to see you with the least possible delay, to make
     arrangements with you of an important nature. I will be
     either here or in Cincinnati for the next few days--here
     to-morrow--Cincinnati next day. In this city you will find
     me at the Capitol, at Cincinnati at my residence.

     "If you telegraph me, better use your first name alone. Let
     no one know that you come to see me, and keep as quiet as
     possible.

     "Very truly yours,

            "GEO. B. MCCLELLAN,

      "Maj. Gen'l Comd'g Ohio Vols.

This letter at once decided me. Anxious as I was to serve the country in
this, the hour of her need, I sought the first opportunity for active
duty that presented itself, and I left Philadelphia at once, in order to
comply with the instructions contained in this message of Gen.
McClellan.

[Illustration: STORMING A FORT.]

CHAPTER IX.

_An Adventure in Pittsburg.--A Mob at Bay.--An
Explanation.--Good-feeling Restored._

Several influences operated in my mind to induce me to respond at once
to this letter, and some of them of a directly personal nature. I had
been acquainted with General McClellan for a long time before this, and
had been intimately associated with him while engaged upon various
important operations connected with the Illinois Central and the Ohio
and Mississippi Railroads, of the latter of which he was then president.
From the friendship and esteem I entertained for him growing out of my
relations with him in those matters, both as an individual and as an
executive officer, I felt the more anxious to enter into his service,
now that he had assumed the command of a military department, and was
about to take an active part in the impending struggle.

At Philadelphia I ascertained that Timothy Webster had already departed
for Pittsburg, according to previous instructions, and hastily
telegraphing to the General that I would instantly respond to his letter
in person, I took the first train leading westward and was soon upon my
way.

Timothy Webster, meanwhile, had proceeded on his journey from
Perrysville, and arrived without accident or adventure in Philadelphia.
He immediately repaired to the office of Mr. Dunn, who informed him that
he had just received a dispatch for him from Chicago. Webster hastily
opened the message and found my directions for him to await my return at
the city of Pittsburg. Remaining in the Quaker City until the following
day, he took the western train and in due time arrived at his
destination. On inquiring at the telegraph office in Pittsburg he
received another message to the same effect as the first one, and he
therefore engaged quarters at a hotel, patiently awaiting my coming. On
the second day after his arrival in the Smoky City, which was Sunday, he
again went to the telegraph office, where he received information that I
would probably arrive there in the course of that day.

Returning to the hotel, Webster entered the bar-room, and while he was
being attended to two men came in, apparently engaged in excited
conversation. They advanced to the bar and requested drinks. The
excitement in the city, attendant upon the news from Baltimore, had not
abated in the least since Webster had passed through several days
before, and these two men were discussing the action of the government
in regard to this matter. One of them, an excitable, empty-headed
fellow, was cursing the President and General Scott, in very loud tones
and in unmeasured terms, for not burning the city of Baltimore to
ashes, and thus teaching the rebels a lesson they would be apt to
remember. The remonstrances of his friend seemed only to excite him
still more, and Webster, feeling desirous of avoiding any controversy at
that time, started to leave the saloon, when the angry disputant turned
to him, and arrogantly demanded his opinion of the matter.

"I think," said Webster, "that the President and General Scott
understand their duties much better than I can inform them, and I
suppose they do not wish to destroy the property of many who are true to
the government."

"That is all nonsense," replied the other, sharply, "there is not a
single Union man in the whole city."

"I think you are mistaken," said Webster, coolly. "I am sure there are
thousands of them there."

This answer seemed to infuriate the man, and striding up to Webster, he
asked, with an air of impertinence:

"Are you a Southern man?"

"No, sir, I was born in New York," was the reply.

"What is your name?" impudently demanded the fellow.

"You will find my name upon the register of the hotel, if you desire it,
and as I do not wish to have any further controversy with you, I bid you
good morning," replied Webster, still remaining cool and unruffled.

By this time a crowd of about twenty men had gathered about them, and
as Webster turned to leave the room, one of them demanded to know the
contents of the telegram he had just received.

This demand, added to the previous suggestion that Webster was a
Southern man, was sufficient to excite the entire crowd, who had been
living upon excitement for more than a week, and they began to press
around him in a threatening manner, one of them calling out:

"I believe he is a d--d spy; let us see what he has got!"

Webster broke loose from those nearest to him, and retreating backwards
toward the door, exclaimed, in a determined voice:

"Gentlemen, I am no spy, and if any of you attempt to trouble me
further, some of you will assuredly get hurt!"

At this the crowd grew boisterous and violent, and several called out,
"Hang him!" "Hang the spy!" while some of them made a rush toward where
he stood.

Drawing his revolver, Webster faced his angry assailants, who drew back
involuntarily when they saw that he was both well armed and undismayed.

"Gentlemen, we have had enough of this nonsense. You can talk about
hanging me, and perhaps there are enough of you to do it, but, by God,
the first one that attempts to put his hands upon me is a dead man!"

Matters began to look serious. It seemed evident that these excited
people were determined to resort to violence, and that there would be
bloodshed in consequence. Webster, whose relations with the government
were of so intensely loyal a character, was filled with regret at having
allowed himself to become a party to a conversation which would lead to
such serious consequences. He was resolved, however, to maintain his
position. To show signs of weakness, therefore, would be dangerous, if
not fatal, to him, and he stood bravely in front of the angry mob, who
had drawn back at the sight of the revolver which was leveled so
menacingly at them.

Only for a moment, however, did the crowd stand awed and irresolute--one
moment of silence, in which every man appeared to be deciding for
himself his course of action. Then one tall, stalwart man stepped from
their midst, and waving his hand toward his companions, he cried out:

"Come on, he is only one against twenty, and we will take him dead, or
alive!"

The crowd took a few steps in advance, and Webster had braced himself to
receive their attack, when suddenly, close beside him stood a form, and
a loud voice called out:

"Stop, gentlemen, where you are! This man is no traitor, and I will
defend him with my life!" and the muzzles of two revolvers ranged
themselves beside that presented by the suspected, but undismayed
detective.

[Illustration: "_Stop, Gentlemen, where you are._" P. 146.]

Involuntarily the crowd stood still at this unexpected arrival of
reinforcements, and Webster, who had recognized the voice, looked up in
surprise and relief at this unlooked-for, though timely, assistance.

I had arrived just in the nick of time, and I was resolved to defend my
undaunted operative to the last.

At this moment the proprietor of the hotel entered the saloon, and in a
calm voice and quiet manner attempted to subdue the angry feelings of
the bystanders.

"Gentlemen," said he, "there need be no trouble about this matter; Mr.
Webster can fully explain his position, and I think the best plan would
be for you all to repair to the office of the mayor, where any
explanation can be given."

"I am perfectly willing to do that," said I; "I know this man, and will
answer for him under any circumstances; we will accompany you to the
office of the mayor at once, and I think I can convince him that he is
no spy."

This proposition was eagerly accepted by some, and reluctantly by
others, and finally the entire party marched out of the hotel on their
way to the office of the chief magistrate of the city; Webster and
myself walking together.

The crowd increased as we went on, and frequent calls were still made to
"hang the traitor," but no further attempts were made to molest us, and
we reached the office without any event of a troublesome nature
occurring.

The noise of the crowd attracted the attention of the chief of police,
who, during the temporary absence of the mayor, was in charge of affairs
of this nature, and he came to the door to ascertain the occasion of the
tumult.

As the crowd, with Webster and myself in the van, reached the steps
which led up to the municipal office, I at once recognized the chief of
police, having been connected with him some time before in the detection
of some burglars from the city of Pittsburg, and that officer was not
slow to identify me as the detective, who had frequently enabled him to
secure the desperate criminals whom the law had at various times
pursued.

As we reached the platform where the officer was standing, I stretched
forth my hand, which the chief cordially grasped.

"Why, Mr. Pinkerton, what are you doing here?" inquired the chief, with
some surprise.

"I have come to defend one of my men, whom these people insist upon
hanging as a rebel spy, but who is loyal to the core," I answered,
laughingly.

"I will take care of that," replied the chief, "and your word is
sufficient for me," at the same time extending his disengaged hand and
warmly greeting Webster, who stood beside me.

As the crowd noticed the evident acquaintance and good-feeling that
existed between the reputed spy and their chief of police, they drew
back instinctively, while some of them looked as if they were not
insensible to a feeling of shame. The chief realized the state of
affairs at once, and turning to the now crestfallen and subdued
gathering, he addressed them:

"Gentlemen, I will be responsible for the loyalty and integrity of these
gentlemen, and you will instantly disperse."

The leaders of this assault on Webster looked terribly ashamed of
themselves when they found how ridiculously they had been acting, and as
the door of the chief's office closed on our retreating figures, they
slowly and silently retired.

In an hour afterwards, when Webster and I returned to the hotel, we
found the gentlemen who a short time before were anxious to hang him,
awaiting our arrival, and we received from them their heartfelt
apologies for their hasty and inconsiderate conduct, all of which were
received with a spirit of good nature that won the regards of all
present, and when the time of our departure arrived, they accompanied us
to the depot in a body, and cheered us lustily as the train slowly moved
away.

Thus an adventure, which promised to be very serious in its results,
terminated in a manner satisfactory to all, and Webster and myself,
instead of being lynched by a Pittsburg mob, departed in safety on our
journey, and arrived in Cincinnati upon the following day, prepared to
receive from General McClellan such instructions as were deemed
necessary by him for the furtherance of the cause in which he was
engaged.

[Illustration: BETRAYED BY HIS BOOTS.]

CHAPTER X.

_General McClellan in Command of Ohio.--I am Engaged for the War.--The
Secret Service.--A Consultation.--Webster starts for Rebeldom._

At the outbreak of the rebellion many difficulties were encountered
which the people and their leaders were ill-prepared to surmount, and
many expedients were resorted to in order to equip and officer the
troops as they arrived. The State of Ohio, the militia of which General
McClellan had been called upon to command by Governor Dennison, was no
exception to this rule; but that gentleman realized the importance of
calling some one to the command of the volunteers, upon whose knowledge,
judgment and experience he could place implicit reliance. He therefore
turned to Captain McClellan, who was a graduate of West Point, and had
been a captain in the regular army, but who had for some years past been
devoting himself to the management of a prominent railroad enterprise in
the State.

The Governor at once sent a communication to the general government,
requesting that McClellan should be restored to his old rank in the
army, and that the duty of organizing the Ohio volunteers should be
assigned to him. To this request no answer was received, and it was
afterwards learned that the Governor's letter, owing to the interruption
of communications with Washington from all points, had not reached its
destination. Failing, therefore, to receive any reply from the general
government, and being thus forced to rely upon his own resources,
Governor Dennison at once summoned McClellan to Columbus, where the
latter applied himself earnestly to the work of organizing the numerous
volunteer regiments which offered their services to the country. The
State laws were changed in such a manner as to allow the Governor to
select commanding officers for these volunteers outside of the members
of the State militia, and very soon afterward the Ohio troops were
commanded by thoroughly competent men, who had made military movements
the subject of scientific study.

On the third day of May a "Department of the Ohio" was formed,
consisting of the combined forces of Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, and
this department, by order of General Scott, was placed under the command
of General McClellan.

The Ohio troops, as they arrived, were mainly located at Camp Dennison,
which was situated in a valley about sixteen miles northwesterly from
the city of Cincinnati. This was the largest and the chief camp in the
State, and here the volunteers received that thorough instruction and
training so essential in preparing for the rigors of war.

As I have stated, my personal acquaintance with George B. McClellan had,
from its earliest incipiency, been of the most agreeable and amicable
nature, and when I called at his house in Ludlow street, as I did
immediately upon my arrival in Cincinnati, I was received with genuine
cordiality. After we were closeted together I explained fully to him the
character of the business that had called me to Washington, and how the
complication of affairs at the seat of government necessitated so much
delay that I had found it imperative upon me to leave without arriving
at any definite understanding with the President.

The General had already been advised of his elevation in rank, and among
other things desired to consult with me in relation to his affairs at
the War Department.

I need not stop to give the details of that interview. His object in
sending for me was to secure my aid and co-operation in the organization
of a secret service for his department, and finding me more than willing
to do all in my power to help along the cause of the Union, he
immediately laid before me all his plans.

Our business was settled. It arranged that I should assume full
management and control of this new branch of the service, and that I
should at once enter upon the discharge of the multifarious duties
attending so responsible a position. The General then informed me that
he would write to General Scott for permission to organize this
department under his own personal supervision; and he also agreed to
submit the project to Governor Dennison, of Ohio, with a request to that
gentleman to solicit the co-operation of the Governors of Illinois,
Indiana, Michigan and Wisconsin, in sustaining the organization.

To this arrangement I gave a ready assent, and we then entered upon the
discussion of affairs requiring immediate attention. Several measures,
more or less important, had suggested themselves to my mind while the
General was talking, and in the course of the conversation which
followed, I presented them for his consideration. It was a relief to me
to find that at the outset there was no clash of opinion between us, and
I felt confident that there was not likely to be any in the future.

For several days my time was principally taken up in private
consultations with General McClellan, in laying out a line of
operations, by which I was to assist in making arrangements for bringing
my own force into active duty at the earliest possible hour. I rented a
suite of rooms and fitted up an office in Cincinnati, where I called
about me some of the most capable and trustworthy detectives in my
employ, and impressed upon them the great importance of the tasks that
were about to be imposed upon them.

The general informed me that he would like observations made within the
rebel lines, and I resolved to at once send some scouts into the
disaffected region lying south of us, for the purpose of obtaining
information concerning the numbers, equipments, movements and intentions
of the enemy, as well as to ascertain the general feeling of the
Southern people in regard to the war. I fully realized the delicacy of
this business, and the necessity of conducting it with the greatest
care, caution and secrecy. None but good, true, reliable men could be
detailed for such service, and knowing this, I made my selections
accordingly; my thoughts reverting first of all to Timothy Webster.

Within six hours after the commander had expressed his wishes to me,
Timothy Webster was on his way to Louisville, with instructions to
proceed southward from that city to Memphis, stopping at Bowling Green
and Clarkesville on the way.

In Webster's case it was not necessary to devote much time to
instructions, except as to his line of travel, for he was a man who
understood the whole meaning of a mission like this, and one who would
perform his duty with that faithfulness and ability by which he had
fairly earned the confidence I now reposed in him.

Within a few days I also sent out other scouts, singly and in pairs, on
the different routes that had been carefully prepared for them, and in a
short time quite a number of my best operatives were engaged upon more
or less difficult and dangerous tasks, all tending to the same end.

In organizing and controlling this secret service, I endeavored to
conceal my own individual identity so far as my friends and the public
were concerned. The new field of usefulness into which I had ventured
was designed to be a secret one in every respect, and for obvious
reasons I was induced to lay aside the name of Allan Pinkerton--a name
so well known that it had grown to be a sort of synonym for detective. I
accordingly adopted the less suggestive one of E. J. Allen; a _nom de
guerre_ which I retained during the entire period of my connection with
the war. This precautionary measure was first proposed by the General
himself, and in assenting to it I carried out his views as well as my
own. This ruse to conceal my identity was a successful one. My true name
was known only to General McClellan, and those of my force who were in
my employ before the breaking out of the rebellion, and by them it was
sacredly kept. Indeed, I doubt if McClellan has ever divulged it to this
day, if I may judge by the frequent occurrence of such incidents as the
following:

A short time since, while on a visit to my New York agency, I chanced to
meet one of my old army friends, General Fitz-John Porter. He recognized
me, gave me a hearty greeting, and proceeded to address me as Major
Allen, after the custom of by-gone days. I permitted the conversation
to go on for some time, and then said:

"Are you not aware, General, that the name of E. J. Allen, which I used
during the war, was a fictitious one?"

He looked at me, as if to satisfy himself that I was not jesting, and
then exclaimed:

"Fictitious! You are not in earnest, Major?"

I assured him that I was never more so.

"Why, I never suspected such a thing. What, then, is your true name?"

"Allan Pinkerton," I replied.

"Allan Pinkerton!" he ejaculated.

His astonishment knew no bounds, and he declared it was the first
intimation he had ever had that Allan Pinkerton and Major Allen were one
and the same person.

It was on the thirteenth of May that Timothy Webster left Cincinnati on
his trip southward. He arrived at Louisville, Ky., late in the night,
and remained there until the following day, when he pursued his course
into the heart of that self-satisfied State which only desired to be
"let alone."

It is not my purpose to give in detail all the events of Webster's
journey, as there was much that would only prove tedious at this late
day, though at that time regarded as of the utmost importance to the
country. Shrewd, wide-awake, and keen as a blood-hound on the scent, he
allowed nothing to escape him, but quietly jotted down every item of
intelligence that could possibly be of advantage to the Union army, and
picked up many important points, which would have escaped the notice of
a man of less detective experience and ability.

He stopped a day or two at Bowling Green, Ky., and then proceeded on to
Clarkesville, Tenn. He made friends of all he met, and cleverly
ingratiated himself into the good graces of those whom he believed might
be of service to him. He was a "Hail, fellow! well met," "A prince of
good fellows," a genial, jovial, convivial spirit, with an inexhaustible
fund of anecdote and amusing reminiscences, and a wonderful faculty for
making everybody like him. He partook of soldiers' fare in the rebel
camp, shook hands warmly with raw recruits, joked and laughed with petty
officers, became familiar with colonels and captains, and talked
profoundly with brigadier-generals. He was apparently an enthusiastic
and determined rebel, and in a few cunningly-worded sentences he would
rouse the stagnant blood of his hearers till it fairly boiled with
virtuous indignation against Yankees in general, and "Abe Linkin" in
particular.

Webster's talent in sustaining a _role_ of this kind amounted to
positive genius, and it was this that forced me to admire the man as
sincerely as I prized his services. Naturally, he was of a quiet,
reserved disposition, seldom speaking unless spoken to, and never
betraying emotion or excitement under any pressure of circumstances.
His face always wore that calm, imperturbable expression denoting a
well-balanced mind and a thorough self-control, while the immobile
countenance and close-set lips showed that he was naturally as
inscrutable as the Sphinx. Many of his associates were of the opinion
that he was cold and unfeeling, but _I_ knew there could be no greater
mistake than this; _I_ knew that a manlier, nobler heart never existed
than that which beat within the broad breast of Timothy Webster; and I
knew that, reserved and modest as he was, he was never wanting in
courtesy, never derelict in his duty, never behind his fellows in acts
of kindness and mercy.

It was when he was detailed for such operations as the one in question
that his disposition underwent a complete metamorphosis. Then his
reserve vanished, and he became the chatty, entertaining boon companion,
the hero of the card-table, the story-teller of the bar-room, or the
lion of the social gathering, as the exigencies of the case might
require. He could go into a strange place and in one day surround
himself with warm friends, who would end by telling him all he desired
to know. In a life-time of varied detective experience, I have never met
one who could more readily and agreeably adapt himself to circumstances.

Webster represented himself as a resident of Baltimore, and gave graphic
accounts of the recent troubles in that city; of the unpleasant position
in which the "friends of the cause" were placed by the proximity and
oppression of Northern troops, and of the outraged feelings of the
populace when the "Lincoln hirelings" marched through the streets of the
Monumental City. His eyes seemed to flash with indignation during the
recital, and it would have been difficult indeed to induce his audience
to believe that he was acting a part, or that his heart was not with the
South.

On the morning of his departure from Clarkesville quite a number of
soldiers and citizens, who had become attached to him during his brief
sojourn with them, accompanied him to the depot, shook him warmly by the
hand at parting, and earnestly wished him God-speed. He told them all
that he hoped to see them again soon, and waved them a smiling adieu
from the platform of the car, as the train whirled him away toward
Memphis.

As the train stopped on the east bank of the Tennessee river, and the
passengers swarmed out of the cars, Webster noticed a man take the
conductor aside and engage in earnest conversation with him for a few
moments. This man was a dark-complexioned, sharp-visaged, long-haired
individual, clad in civilian's garb, and wearing a broad-brimmed hat.
There was an air of mystery about him which attracted more than a
passing glance from the scout, and caused the latter to keep an eye on
him thereafter.

The passengers were obliged to cross the river in a ferry-boat. The
train going south was in waiting on the other side, and its conductor
stood on the bank alone, making entries in his memorandum-book. As soon
as the boat touched the land the man with the long hair and
broad-brimmed hat sprang ashore and approached the conductor, to whom he
began to talk in the same hurried, nervous manner that he had done to
the one on the other side. As the time for starting approached, the
mysterious stranger and the conductor walked toward the train together,
conversing excitedly as they went.

"There's something up," thought Webster, as he boarded the train.
"Perhaps that fellow is on the look-out for new-comers like myself; but
we'll see whether he is sharp enough to catch a weasel asleep."

For the first twenty miles after leaving the Tennessee river, the road
lay through an uncultivated region of swamps and heavy timber. At every
station along the route uniformed men, heavy guns, car-loads of muskets
and ammunition were seen, indicating general and active preparations for
war, while the secession flag was flying in the breeze, and the music of
fife and drum was frequently borne to the ear. At Humboldt, where the
train arrived at four o'clock in the afternoon, they were delayed for
some time, and Webster improved the opportunity to look around him and
to procure his dinner. The man with the broad-brimmed hat seated himself
almost opposite Webster at table, who noticed that his restless,
inquisitive eyes were kept busy scrutinizing every face that came within
range of his vision. He did not address himself to any one during the
progress of the repast, and after hurriedly satisfying his own appetite,
he walked out upon the platform of the depot, where he stood intently
watching the other passengers as they returned to the train.

Webster, as he crossed the platform, instinctively felt that those
searching eyes were riveted upon him as if they would pierce him
through, but he did not evince the slightest degree of trepidation or
uneasiness under the ordeal. Assuming an air of quiet unconsciousness,
he sauntered past the man without seeming to notice him, and entered the
smoking-car, coolly lighted a cigar, drew a Nashville newspaper from his
pocket, and settled himself to his reading. He saw no more of the
mysterious stranger during the remainder of the journey, but on
alighting from the train at the Memphis depot, the first object that met
his gaze was the wearer of the broad-brimmed hat.

Arriving in Memphis at nine o'clock in the evening, Webster went
directly to the Worsham House, where he intended to stay while in the
city. While registering his name he observed a military officer in full
uniform standing at his elbow, watching him closely as he wrote. Several
other new arrivals placed their signatures after Webster, and he then
noticed that the officer was engaged in making a copy of names and
addresses on a piece of paper.

While watching this proceeding, his attention was distracted by some one
hastily entering the hotel office. It was his mysterious
fellow-traveler, who, stepping into the center of the room, glanced
quickly around, apparently looking for some particular face. The search
was evidently successful, for, walking up to one of the men who had just
arrived on the train from the North, he tapped him on the shoulder and
beckoned him.

After a few moments' conversation, during which the new-comer appeared
to be both surprised and frightened, the two left the hotel together and
walked up the street arm in arm.

Two citizens who were lounging near the door had been interested
spectators of this incident, and Webster heard one of them inquire:

"What does that mean?"

"It means that the stranger is under arrest," replied his companion.

"Under arrest? And who is the man who arrested him?"

"Oh, he is a member of the safety committee."

"But what crime has the stranger committed, that he should thus be taken
into custody?"

"Nothing, perhaps; but the fact that he is a stranger from the North, is
sufficient to mark him as an object of suspicion."

"Isn't that a little severe?"

"Severe? It's a necessity in these times. For my part, I am in for
hanging every Northern man who comes here, unless he can give the most
satisfactory proof that he is not a spy."

The rest of the conversation did not reach Webster's ear, and, being
much fatigued by his day's journey, he soon retired, to seek that much
needed rest which slumber only could afford.

He rose at an early hour in the morning, feeling much refreshed. On
entering the dining-room he found it crowded with guests, the majority
of whom wore the uniform and shoulder-straps of Confederate officers.
The conversation around the table was upon the all-absorbing theme which
at that time was uppermost in every mind, and the scout was both amused
and edified by what he heard. He did not long remain a silent listener,
but taking his cue at the proper moment he entered easily and naturally
into the conversation himself, and his pleasing address and intelligent
observations commanded at once the respectful attention of those around
him.

After breakfast Webster determined to ascertain whether or not he was
under the surveillance of the vigilance committee, and he accordingly
left the hotel, and wended his way toward the post-office.

He had not proceeded far when he noticed a man who appeared to be
following him on the opposite side of the street. Desiring to satisfy
himself upon this point he walked on for several blocks, and then
dropped into a saloon. Remaining there a sufficient length of time for
the man to pass from view, in case he did not stop in his onward course,
he emerged from the saloon and retraced his steps toward the hotel. As
he did so he noticed the stranger on the other side of the street,
dogging him as before. This left no doubt in his mind that he was being
shadowed, and he resolved to be guarded in his movements, to refrain
from writing any reports or making any notes that could possibly betray
him. He returned to the office and bar-room of the Worsham Hotel, and
spent an hour or two reading and smoking. While thus occupied, three
military officers entered and stood near the bar engaged in animated
conversation. Webster sauntered toward them, and heard one of the
trio--a man whom the others addressed as "Doctor"--remark emphatically:

"Yes, gentlemen, that is a true principle. It will not do to let a man
set foot on Kentucky soil until the Northern troops disregard the
neutrality of that State."

Catching the drift of the conversation, Webster stepped forward and
said:

"I beg pardon, sir; will you permit me to ask one question?"

The three officers turned toward him, with expressions of mild surprise
in their faces, and the Doctor replied:

"Certainly, sir; certainly."

"Do you suppose," added Webster, "that Kentucky will allow the Northern
army to march through the State without showing fight?"

"Not by a jug-full," was the prompt response. "The moment the Northern
army crosses the Ohio river, Kentucky will rise in arms and take sides
with the South."

"If she doesn't," said Webster, with much apparent warmth, "she will
prove herself unworthy of the respect of any true Southern men!"

The Doctor's face brightened up, and he laid his hand approvingly on the
scout's shoulder.

"May I ask where you are from?"

"I was born in Kentucky and reared in Maryland," was the quiet reply,
"and I am now direct from Baltimore."

"Baltimore!" ejaculated the whole trio in chorus; and the next moment
were all shaking hands in the most vigorous fashion.

"Baltimore!" repeated the Doctor, his face red with his recent exertion.
"My friend, we are always glad to meet a Baltimorean, for we know there
is many a true man in that city who would help us if he could. May I ask
your name, sir?"

"Webster--Timothy Webster."

"A devilish good name. Mine is Burton. My friends all call me Doctor
Burton. Allow me to introduce you to Colonel Dalgetty and to Captain
Stanley of the Arkansas Rifles."

The introduction was cordially acknowledged on both sides, and Webster
then said:

"Gentlemen, I was about to call for a drink when I heard you speak of
Kentucky. I am happy to know that there is still hopes for that State.
Will you drink her health with me?"

And in the clinking of the glasses, and the quaffing of their favorite
beverages, the new link of friendship was forged.

[Illustration: RUN DOWN BY CAVALRY.]

CHAPTER XI.

_Webster Fraternizes with the Rebel Officers.--A Secession Hat.--A Visit
to a Rebel Camp.--"The Committee of Safety."--A Friendly Stranger.--A
Warning.--The Escape._

Webster's new friends were men whom he believed he could use to good
advantage, and he determined to improve the chance that had thrown him
in contact with them. He found them not only very well informed, but
disposed to be communicative, and he therefore applied the "pumping"
process with all the skill at his command. He experienced no difficulty
in making this mode of operation effectual, for these officers were
exceedingly willing to air their knowledge for the benefit of their
Baltimore friend, and enjoyed his frequent expressions of agreeable
surprise at the extent of the preparations made by the people of the
South to defend their rights.

Dr. Burton was the most conspicuous one of the group, from his very
pompousness. He wore a superfluity of gorgeous gold lace on his uniform,
and assumed the dignity of a major-general. He was a flabby-faced,
bulbous-eyed individual, with a wonderful stomach for harboring liquor,
and that unceasing flow of spirits arising from a magnified sense of
his own importance. It was evident, even upon a short acquaintance, that
the doctor found his chief entertainment in listening to himself talk, a
species of recreation in which he indulged with great regularity,
sharing the pleasure with as many others as would grant him a hearing.

In Webster he found an attentive auditor, which so flattered his vanity
that he at once formed a strong attachment for my operative, and placed
himself on familiar and confidential terms with him.

"Webster, we've got to do some hard fighting in these parts, and that
before we are many days older," said the Doctor, with a wise shake of
the head.

"I think you are right," conceded the scout. "We must fight it out. From
what you have told me, however, I am sure the Lincoln troops will find
you fully prepared to give them a warm reception here."

"That they will, sir; that they will!" was the emphatic rejoinder. "We
have one full regiment and four or five companies besides, at Camp
Rector, and General Pillow has thirty-seven hundred men at the camp in
the rear of Fort Harris, which is a little above us on this side of the
river. We expect to move with him, and if there is an attack made upon
us every man in the town will instantly become a soldier."

"Have you arms enough for all of them?"

"Arms? Let the Yankees count on our not having arms, and they will meet
with a surprise party. In two hours' notice we can have from eight to
ten thousand men ready to march."

"No doubt of it, Doctor; but how do you expect to get two hours'
notice?"

"Lord bless you, Webster, we have men watching the movements of the
Yankees at Cairo, and the minute they make a move we are notified. Then
our signal gun is fired, and every man is mustered."

"A good arrangement, truly," said the detective quietly.

"You look as if you could do some hard fighting yourself, Mr. Webster,"
remarked Colonel Dalgetty.

The detective smiled.

"I have been fighting against great odds for the past two months in
Baltimore. The last battle I fought was to get away from there with my
life."

"Yes, and we are confounded glad to receive you here," exclaimed the
enthusiastic Doctor, shaking Webster by the hand for the twentieth time.
"Come, gentlemen, we must have another drink. Step up and nominate your
'pizen.'"

The glasses were filled, and some one proposed the toast: "Death to the
Yankees!" Under his breath, however, the detective muttered, "Confusion
to the rebels!" and drained his glass. The toast was no sooner drank
than Lieutenant Stanley, who was evidently beginning to feel the
influence of the liquor he had drank, took off his uniform hat and put
it on Webster's head.

[Illustration: "_Now, my dear fellow, you can consider yourself
perfectly at home!_" P. 171.]

"Excuse me, Mr. Webster," he said, "I merely wish to see how you look in
one of our hats." Then stepping back, he added: "By the gods, nothing
could be more becoming! My dear fellow, you must have one by all means,
if you stay among us."

Webster endeavored laughingly to object, but they all refused to accept
"no" for an answer. So, finding it impossible to resist, he went with
them to a neighboring hat store.

"Fit a hat to Mr. Webster's head--a hat just like mine," said Dr.
Burton, to the proprietor; then turning to the scout, he added: "We will
have you a cord and tassel of blue, as that will show that you are true
to the cause, although you do not belong to the military."

The hatter produced a secession chapeau of the kind and size required,
and Webster at once put it on, much to the delight of the Doctor, who
slapped Webster familiarly on the shoulder, with the exclamation:

"Now, my dear fellow, you can consider yourself at home!"

"Perfectly at home," echoed Colonel Dalgetty.

"Henceforward you are one of us," put in the Lieutenant.

Webster thanked them cordially for their kindness, and promised to wear
it in preference to any other. As they stepped outside of the store,
however, all thoughts of the new hat were temporarily driven from his
mind, for, standing on the sidewalk, within a few yards of the store
door, and looking directly at him, was the identical individual whom he
had noticed on the train, who had arrested the Northern stranger the
night before.

The gaze which this vigilant agent of the safety committee now bent upon
Webster was full of dark suspicion, but after one swift glance at him
the detective turned away with an air of perfect composure and
unconcern, and walked off between his companions. To say that he felt
some uneasiness at this evidence that he was still being closely
followed, would be only to tell the truth. His first impulse was to
speak to his companions about it, but a second thought decided him not
to mention the matter to any one, nor to betray by word or act that he
had the slightest hint of a suspicion that he was being watched.

The three officers introduced Webster to a large number of soldiers and
citizens, and before the day was over he had quite an extended circle of
acquaintance in Memphis. Dr. Burton, who had conceived a fancy for him,
as sudden as it was pronounced, assumed a sort of paternal control over
Webster, hovering about him with an air of protection and solicitude,
and drawing the scout's arm through his when they walked together.

That afternoon, Webster, desiring to be alone for awhile, hired one of
the hackmen at the door of the hotel to drive him three or four miles
into the country. He went down the river road, and as it was a beautiful
day, he enjoyed himself admiring the picturesque scenery along the way.

Just below the town, on the bank of the river, he found a small
encampment of soldiers with a battery, who were on the lookout for boats
coming up the river, and during his ride he saw several encampments of
the same nature. After spending several hours inspecting the
fortifications along the river, Webster returned to the hotel, which he
reached about dark.

The next day Doctor Burton and several of his military friends sought
out the detective, and urged him to go with them to Camp Rector.

"Gentlemen, I am at your service," said Webster, earnestly. "I think I
would enjoy a visit to your camp to-day above all things."

They went to the levee, and at ten o'clock were on the boat, steaming up
the river toward Mound City, where Camp Rector was located.

A distance of some six or seven miles, passing on their way up, various
objects of interest, among them Fort Harris, which was merely an
embankment thrown up, to answer the purpose. Arriving at Mound City, the
party disembarked and walked to the hotel. After dinner the party
visited the camp-ground, a distance of about one-fourth of a mile from
the hotel, and here Dr. Burton and the other officers took much pride
in showing Webster around. They talked volubly about the unexampled
bravery of the Confederate soldier; had much to say on the subject of
Southern chivalry as opposed to Northern braggadocio; told how well they
were prepared to meet the onslaught of the enemy; and found a special
delight in exhibiting to the visitor a portion of General Bragg's
artillery, which they had in the camp.

After that they seated themselves around a table in one of the larger
tents, to rest and enjoy the grateful shade, as it was a warm and sunny
afternoon. While engaged in the most bombastic utterances of their
prowess, and of the wonderful exploits that might be expected of the
Southern army, their conversation was interrupted by a shadow falling
across the strip of sunlight that streamed in through the opening of the
tent. Every one around the table glanced up, and there at the entrance
stood the man with the broad-brimmed hat! The intruder did not tarry a
moment, but turned and walked away. Evidently he had stopped only to
look in; but in that single instant he had shot a keen, and apparently
satisfactory, glance at Timothy Webster, which was fortunately not
observed by any one save the detective himself.

"That fellow is one of the safety committee," said Dr. Burton, filling
his glass.

"He appears to be looking for some one," remarked Lieutenant Stanley.

"Reckon he is," answered the Doctor. "He's always looking for some one.
And, by-the-bye, those chaps are doing a heap of good for the cause just
now. A Northern man stands no show for his life in these parts if the
safety committee spots him. They hang 'em on suspicion."

"That's right," said Webster, coolly. "I believe in hanging every
Northern man that comes prowling around. They don't deserve a trial, for
they have no right here anyway."

But cool and collected as Webster outwardly appeared, it must be
admitted that he was inwardly ill at ease. There was now no longer the
shadow of a doubt in his mind that this long-haired agent of the safety
committee was following him and watching his every movement, and that
any attempt on his part to return to the North would betray him and
cause his arrest.

"The only reason I have not already been arrested," mused the scout, "is
because they are not sure whether I came from the North or not. They
merely _suspect_, and are watching me to see if I undertake to return
northward. Such an act would confirm their suspicions, and I would be
arrested and probably put to death as a spy. It stands me in hand to
give them the slip before I take the back track."

After spending a very pleasant day at the camp, he returned to Memphis
on the latest boat that night, informing Dr. Burton that he was going to
Chattanooga to look up a brother whom he had not seen in twelve years.

"You'll come back?" said the Doctor, as he wrung his hand.

"Oh, certainly," was the cheerful response. "I'll be with you again
before long."

Colonel Gaines, of the artillery, who heard this conversation, now
grasped the scout's hand.

"Webster, you'd make a good soldier," he said, bluntly. "Hang me if I
wouldn't like to have you on my force."

Webster smiled good-naturedly.

"I have some family business to attend to before I could think of
entering the army. After that I may remind you of your remark."

"All right," said the Colonel, "any time that you are ready, come; I
will make room for you."

On his way down the river Webster found, to his relief, that the man
with the broad-brimmed hat was not aboard the boats. He now had a hope
of being able to give his shadow the slip by leaving Memphis on early
train in the morning.

Arriving in sight of their destination, the passengers on the ferry-boat
were surprised to see that the levee was crowded with people. Shortly
after, they learned that this unusual gathering was caused by the
capture of the steamboat "Prince of Wales" by the rebels.

Webster went to the Worsham Hotel, where he spent the night, and at
five o'clock in the morning, after making a few preparations, and
dispatching an early breakfast, he repaired to the depot. Arriving there
he looked carefully about on all sides, but saw no one who seemed to
take any interest in his movements. "So far, so good," he muttered, as
he boarded the train; and the next minute he was leaving the scene of
his most recent exploits with the speed of the wind.

He was himself too shrewd and cunning to feel absolutely sure that he
was not followed. His own experience in the art of "shadowing" told him
he had not yet escaped the vigilant eyes of the safety committee, but he
resolved to elude them if it was possible to do so.

Innumerable troops were being transported at this time, and the train
was crowded with soldiers. Webster amused himself by making the
acquaintance of the officers, and skillfully drawing on their fund of
information, until the train arrived at Grand Junction, where he decided
to change cars for Jackson, Tennessee.

Accordingly, he abandoned the Chattanooga cars and boarded the
north-bound train, which was in waiting at the junction, and again he
was whirled away across the verdure-clad country, this time toward the
"land of the free." But no sooner was the train well under way than
something which came under Webster's observation removed from his mind
all doubt as to whether he would be permitted to pursue his journey
unmolested. He occupied a seat in the forward part of the car, and on
turning carelessly away from the window after gazing out upon the
landscape for awhile, he was somewhat surprised at seeing an individual
standing on the front platform of the car, looking in through the glass
door.

It was a person whose face and figure had already become quite familiar
to him, being no other than the man who had so persistently followed him
for the past few days.

"He seems determined not to let me get away," thought the scout; but
neither in his face nor manner did he betray any of the disappointment
he felt.

He noticed that his pursuer was not alone this time, but was accompanied
by another person--an ill-looking man of herculean proportions--with
whom he conversed in an earnest, confidential way.

When the train arrived at Jackson, Webster stepped out upon the platform
of the depot, and the two agents of the safety committee did the same.
The conductor stood near by, and Webster spoke to him in a tone which he
meant his shadows to hear, asking:

"How soon will there be a train for Humboldt?"

"In twenty minutes," replied the conductor.

"Do you know anything about the hotels there?" inquired the scout. "I've
got to stop two or three days in the town, and it's a strange place to
me."

The conductor recommended him to a good house convenient to the depot,
and thanking him for the information, Webster turned away. He had spoken
in a tone that he knew must have been distinctly heard by his enemies,
and he hoped this bit of stratagem would have the desired effect.

He boarded the train for Humboldt, and the brace of shadows promptly
followed him, taking seats in the same car.

While the train was speeding on its way, Webster was aroused from a
reverie by the voice of a woman saying:

"Pardon me, sir; may I occupy a portion of this seat?"

He looked up; a tall, very respectable looking lady was standing in the
aisle, and he saw in an instant that she was the person who had
addressed him.

"Certainly, madam, certainly;" he replied; and quickly made room for
her.

She sat down beside him, and then, to his great surprise, she began to
talk to him in a low, earnest tone, without once turning her face toward
him.

"You are going to Humboldt?" she inquired.

"I am," he answered, surprised at the question.

"You are a Northern man?"

"Madam!" A suspicion flashed, lightning-like, across his mind.

"Believe me, I am not an enemy," the lady went on, "I have been sitting
in the rear part of this car I heard two men talking, and have reason to
believe they were speaking about you. They said they would stop at the
same hotel with you in Humboldt, and keep a close watch over you, and if
you attempt to go northward they will arrest you, take you back to
Memphis, and deal with you as they would with any Northern spy. I advise
you to be very careful, sir, for your life depends upon it."

The train by this time was approaching Humboldt, and the lady arose and
disappeared before the astonished detective could tender his thanks for
the warning. She was destined to remain an utter stranger to him for all
time to come, for he never heard of her afterwards. As they entered the
depot, Webster passed out at the rear end of the car, and he noticed,
with a smile of satisfaction, that his attendant shadows were making
their way out at the front. As he stepped from the car he noticed a pile
of baggage near him, and quickly stepping behind this, he watched the
movements of the two men. Apparently fully satisfied that their game
would be safely bagged at the hotel, they left the depot and walked
rapidly away in the direction of the public-house. His ruse worked to a
charm. A violent shower happened to be passing over at this time, and it
was only natural for the two "safety" men to suppose that Webster had
stopped to seek shelter in the depot for a few minutes.

The express train from Memphis was soon due, and as it came dashing in
"on time," Webster jumped aboard, and was on his way toward Louisville,
smiling in his sleeve as he thought of those two crafty foxes, whose
cunning had overreached themselves, patiently awaiting his arrival at
the hotel in Humboldt.

Before crossing the Kentucky line, Webster put his rebel hat out of
sight, and once more donned the one he had worn from the North.

The remainder of his journey was made without incident, and in due time
he arrived in Cincinnati, and reported to me.

[Illustration: A HOT LUNCH.]

CHAPTER XII.

_I take a Trip to the South.--Danger in Memphis.--A Timely Warning.--A
Persistent Barber.--An Unfortunate Memory.--Return to Cincinnati._

Timothy Webster had scarcely departed upon his trip to Memphis, when I
was summoned for consultation with General McClellan. Upon repairing to
his office, which I did immediately on receiving his message, I found
him awaiting my arrival, and in a few minutes I was informed of his
wishes. He was desirous of ascertaining, as definitely as possible, the
general feeling of the people residing South of the Ohio river, in
Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi and Louisiana, and requested that
measures be at once taken to carry out his purposes.

It was essentially necessary at the outset to become acquainted with all
the facts that might be of importance hereafter, and no time offered
such opportunities for investigations of this nature as the present,
while the war movement was in its incipiency, and before the lines
between the opposing forces had been so closely drawn as to render
traveling in the disaffected district unsafe, if not utterly impossible.

As this mission was of a character that required coolness and tact, as
well as courage, and as most of my men had been detailed for duties in
other sections of the rebellious country, I concluded to make the
journey myself, and at once stated my intention to the General, who
received it with every evidence of satisfaction and approval.

"The very thing I should have proposed, Major," said he; "and if you
will undertake this matter, I have no fears of a failure, and every
confidence in obtaining important developments."

My action had been prompted by two impelling reasons. The first was the
absence of the men whom I had thus far engaged, and who, as I have
before stated, had been detailed upon missions of investigations in
various parts of the South and West, and the other was a desire to see
for myself the actual condition of affairs as they existed at that time.
I have invariably found that a personal knowledge is far more
satisfactory than that gleamed from others, and whenever it was
possible, I have endeavored to acquire my information by such means.
Another advantage to be derived from a personal observation was that I
would be necessarily forced to rely in many matters to which it would be
impossible for me to devote my personal attention.

Having arranged everything to my satisfaction, in order that my absence
would occasion no disarrangement in the proper conduct of the
investigations already commenced, I left my office in the charge of Mr.
George H. Bangs, my general superintendent, and started upon my journey,
intending to be as rapid in my movements as circumstances would permit,
and to return at as early a date as I could, consistently with the
proper performance of the duties intrusted to me.

My first objective point was the city of Louisville, in Kentucky. The
position of this State at the present time was a peculiar one. Her
Governor, if not a Southern conspirator, was, if his own language was to
be relied upon, both in opinion and expectation, a disunionist. He had
at first remonstrated against the action of the Cotton States, but after
that action had been taken, he was unqualifiedly opposed to coercing
them back to obedience, and in addition to this, he had endeavored to
excite his own people to a resistance to the principles and policy of
the party in power.

The people, however, did not sustain his views, and while the popular
sentiment was deeply pro-slavery, and while her commerce bound her
strongly to the South, the patriotic example and teachings of Henry Clay
had impressed upon them a reverence and love for Union higher and purer
than any mere pressing interests or selfish advantage.

At Louisville, therefore, I found a degree of excitement prevailing that
was naturally to be expected from the unsettled condition of public
affairs. The Governor had refused to comply with the President's call
for troops, and the State had been in a state of hopeless bewilderment
and conflict of opinion in consequence. A strong minority, arrogating to
themselves an undue importance, were endeavoring, by self-assertion and
misapplied zeal, to carry the State into the secession fold, but thus
far they had made no substantial progress against an overwhelming
undercurrent of Union sentiment. Failing in this, their energies were
now devoted to an effort to place the State in a neutral attitude, which
would prevent her from taking a decided stand upon the question of
supporting the Union. Thus far they had been temporarily successful, and
on the 16th day of May the house of representatives passed resolutions
declaring that Kentucky "should during the contest occupy the position
of strict neutrality."

This was the existing condition of affairs when I arrived in Louisville,
and which I found prevalent throughout all the sections of the State I
passed.

Representing myself as a Southern man, a resident of Georgia, I had no
difficulty in engaging in conversation with the prominent men of both
elements, and I decided then, from my own observations, that Kentucky
would not cast her fortunes with the South, but that, after the bubble
of unnatural excitement had burst and expended itself, the loyal heart
would be touched, and "Old Kaintuck" would eventually keep step to the
music of the Union. Results proved that I was not mistaken, and not many
weeks elapsed before Union camps were established within her domain,
and the broad-shouldered Kentuckians were swearing allegiance to the old
flag, and, shouldering their muskets, entered into the contest with a
determination to support the government.

Passing on undisturbed, but everywhere on the alert, and making copious
notes of everything that transpired, that I considered at all material
to the furtherance of the loyal cause, I reached Bowling Green.

At this place I found a very decided Union sentiment, the Stars and
Stripes were floating from the various buildings, and the Union men were
largely in the majority. There was one great cause for disquietude,
however, which was very manifest even to a casual observer. Many
residents of Bowling Green and the vicinity were slave owners, and the
impression had become general throughout the negro communities that the
opening of the war naturally and inevitably involved their freedom, an
opinion, however, without sure foundation, at that time, but which was
eventually to be justified by subsequent events. The slaves had heard
their masters discussing the various questions which naturally grew out
of a conflict of this chance character, and in which it was generally
admitted, that emancipation must follow the commencement and continuance
of hostilities between the two sections. It was not surprising
therefore, that this opinion should spread among the entire colored
element, or that it should be greedily accepted by these down-trodden
blacks as the harbinger of a freedom for which they had been praying. In
conversation with one of the leading men of Bowling Green, I was
thoroughly impressed with the importance of this phase of circumstances.

"Mr. Allen," said he, "you have no idea of the danger we are
apprehending from the blacks. We know that the moment that Lincoln sends
his abolition soldiers among our niggers, they will break out and murder
all before them. Why, sir," continued he, "we cannot sleep sound at
nights for fear of the niggers. They think Lincoln is going to set them
free."

"Why," I interrupted, "what can they know about Lincoln?"

"They know too much about him," he replied; "there has been so much talk
about this matter all through the State, that the niggers know as much
about it as we do."

"You should not talk before your niggers; it is not safe, and I never do
it." As I never owned a negro this was perfectly true.

"I know we should not, but it is too late now; they know as much as we
do, and too much for our safety or peace of mind. Why, sir, we are
compelled to mount guard at nights ourselves for mutual protection, and
though there has been no outbreak as yet, and I believe that this is the
only thing that keeps them in check."

"It would be a good plan," said I, anxious to preserve my reputation as
a Southern pro-slavery man, "to take all the men and boys over fifteen
years of age and sell them South."

"That's the devil of it," he replied, "we cannot do that; it was tried
only last week, and a nigger that I was offered $1,500 for last year, I
could not sell at any price."

Already, it seemed, the fruits of the slavery agitation were being made
apparent. The very institution for which these misguided men were
periling their lives, and sacrificing their fortunes, was threatened
with demolition; and the slaves who had so long and so often felt the
lash of their masters, were now becoming a source of fear to the very
men who had heretofore held them in such utter subjection.

This state of affairs I found to be prevalent all over the country which
I visited. Bright visions of freedom danced before the eyes of the
slaves, and they awaited anxiously the dawning of the day, when the
coming of the soldiers of the North would strike from their limbs the
shackles they had worn so long. In the after years of this bloody
struggle, many deeds of self-sacrifice were performed by these slaves,
when, resisting the dazzling opportunities to obtain their coveted
liberty, they cast their lot with the families of their old masters,
whose male members were fighting to continue their bondage. Many cases
could be cited where, but for the faithful labors and devotion of the
despised slave, the families of many of the proud aristocrats would have
starved. But the faithful heart of the negro ever beat warmly for those
whom he had served so long, and disregarding the tempting allurements of
freedom, he devoted himself to the service and to the maintenance of
those who had regarded him as so much merchandise, or simply as a beast
of burden.

At Bowling Green I purchased a splendid bay horse, whose swiftness and
powers of endurance I felt assured could be relied upon, intending to
make the rest of my journey on horseback. By this means I would be the
better able to control my movements than if I were compelled to depend
upon the railroads for transportation. I would also be enabled to stop
at any place where I might find the necessity, or a favorable
opportunity for observation. I had no cause to regret the purchase I had
made, for right nobly did the spirited animal which I had selected
perform the arduous duties that were imposed upon him. Day after day he
would be urged forward, and under his flying feet the distance sped away
almost imperceptibly, and each morning found my charger rested and
refreshed, and ready for the day's journey, be the weather fair or foul,
or the roads easy or rugged.

I reached Nashville, Tennessee, in due season, and resolved to devote
several days to my investigations. Here the disunion element was more
united and outspoken, but even here, I detected evidences of a Union
sentiment which was none the less profound, because of the danger which
its utterances would have incurred. There could be no doubt that this
State had resolved to cast her fortunes with the confederacy, and the
rebel General Pillow had been for some time engaged in fortifying the
city of Memphis. At Nashville I met a number of officers of the rebel
army, all of whom were full of enthusiasm, and whose bombastic
utterances in view of the eventual results, seem at this time almost too
absurd to be repeated. Here also I came in contact with an army surgeon,
whose head was full of wild _Quixotic_ schemes for destroying the
Northern armies by other processes than that of legitimate warfare. One
of his plans I remember was to fill a commissary wagon with whisky, in
which had been previously mixed a generous quantity of strychnine. The
wagon was then to be broken and abandoned and left upon the road so as
to fall into the hands of the Union soldiers. Of course, the liquor
would be consumed by the finders, and the valiant Doctor, with evident
satisfaction to himself, but to the equally evident disgust of his
companions, loudly vaunted his death-dealing and barbarous scheme. This
brave warrior, however, I learned afterward, had fled in terror at the
first fire, and was afterwards dishonorably dismissed from the service
he was so well calculated to disgrace. So far as I was afterward able to
learn, this grand project for wholesale slaughter, of the valorous
Doctor, received no sympathy or support from his more honorable
associates, and the soldiers were enabled to drink their whiskey
untainted with any other poisonous influences than is naturally a part
of its composition.

Leaving Nashville, I spurred on in the direction of Memphis, and in due
time reached the city, which now presented a far different aspect than
when I visited it only a few years before. Then the country was at
peace. The war cloud had not burst with all its fury over a happy land,
and the people were quietly pursuing their avocations. I was engaged in
a detective operation which required my presence in the city, and had
been in consultation with some of the express company's officials, for
whom I was attempting to discover the perpetrators of a robbery of one
of their safes. Turning a corner I came upon a scene that stirred my
feelings to the utmost.

It was the market square, and the merchandise disposed of were human
beings. There was the auction-block and the slave-pen. Men, women and
children were being knocked down to the highest bidder. Wives were sold
away from their husbands, and children from their parents. Old and young
were submitted to the vulgar speculators in flesh and blood, and their
value was approximated by their apparent age, strength and
healthfulness. My blood boiled in my veins as I witnessed, for the first
time, the heart-rendering scenes which I had only heard or read of
before. The cold cruelty of the buyers and abject misery of the sold,
filled me with a spirit of opposition to this vile traffic that gave me
renewed strength to fulfill my duty as an active abolitionist, and to
labor earnestly in the cause of emancipation. I shall never forget the
events of that day, and I can recall the feeling of intense satisfaction
which I experienced on my second visit, when even then, I could see the
dawning of that liberty for which I had labored, and I knew that the day
of emancipation could not be far distant. Then the fair fame of
independent America would no longer be blackened by the pressure of the
slave or the master, but all men under the protection of the starry
banner would be free and equal under the law.

Now the streets were filled with soldiers, some of them fully armed and
equipped, and others provided with but ordinary clothing, and furnished
with such inefficient arms as they had brought with them from their
homes. A most motley gathering they were, and their awkward and
irregular evolutions at this time gave but little promise of the
splendid army of which they were destined in the near future to form so
important a part. The work of fortifying the city had been progressing
in earnest; earthworks had been thrown up all along the banks of the
Mississippi, and batteries were already in position, whose guns frowned
threateningly upon the river.

Here to be known or suspected as a Union man was to merit certain death,
and to advocate any theory of compromise between the two sections was to
be exiled from the city. Here rebeldom was rampant and defiant, and I
had some difficulty in evading the suspicions of the watchful and alert
Southron, who regarded all strange civilians with doubtful scrutiny, and
whose "committee of safety" were ever on the _qui vive_ to detect those
whose actions savored in the least of a leaning towards the North.
Fearlessly, however, I mingled with these men, and as I lost no
opportunity in pronouncing my views upon the righteousness of the cause
of secession, and of my belief in its certain triumph, I obtained a
ready passport to the favor and confidence of the most prominent of
their leaders. I talked unreservedly with the private soldier and the
general officer, with the merchant and the citizen, and by all was
regarded as a stanch Southern man, whose interests and sympathies were
wedded to rebellion.

General Pillow was in command at this point, and almost every citizen
was enrolled as a soldier, whose services would be cheerfully and
promptly rendered whenever the call should be made upon them.

Even this redoubtable chieftain was not proof against my blandishments,
and he little dreamed when on one occasion he quietly sipped his brandy
and water with me, that he was giving valuable information to his sworn
foe, and one to whom every idea gained was an advantage to the
government he was attempting to destroy.

It is needless to relate the valuable items of information which I was
enabled to glean upon this journey--information which in later days was
of vast importance to the Union commanders, but which at this time would
only burden a narrative of the events which they so ably assisted to
successful results.

Here, as in many other places, I found that my best source of
information was the colored men, who were employed in various capacities
of a military nature which entailed hard labor. The slaves, without
reserve, were sent by their masters to perform the manual labor of
building earthworks and fortifications, in driving the teams and in
transporting cannon and ammunition, and, led by my natural and
deep-seated regard for these sable bondsmen, I mingled freely with them,
and found them ever ready to answer questions and to furnish me with
every fact which I desired to possess.

Here and there I found an unassuming white man whose heart was still
with the cause of the Union, but whose active sympathy could not at this
time be of service to the country, as he dared not utter a voice in
defense of his opinions. From all these sources, however, I was
successful in posting myself fully in regard to the movements and
intentions of the rebel authorities and officers, and, as I believed,
had also succeeded in concealing my identity.

[Illustration: "_Fo' God, Massa Allen, ye'll be a dead man in de
mo'nin'!_" P. 195.]

On the third evening of my sojourn in Memphis, however, my dreams of
fancied security were suddenly dispelled, and I was brought face to face
with the reality of danger.

I had retired early to my room, according to my general custom, and had
scarcely been seated when I was disturbed by a faint but quick and
distinct knocking at my door. I arose hastily, as it was something
unusual for me to receive visitors after I had retired, and throwing
open the door, I was somewhat surprised to see, standing before me, in a
state of unmistakable excitement, the colored porter of the hotel.

Before I had time to question him, he sprang into the room and closed
the door behind him. His countenance evinced a degree of terror that
immediately filled me with alarm. His eyes were fixed wildly upon me,
his lips were quivering, and his knees trembled under him, as though
unable to sustain the weight of his body. Indeed, so frightened was he,
that he appeared to be struggling forcibly to do so.

"What is the matter, Jem?" I inquired, in as calm a tone as I could
assume, and with a view of reassuring him. "What has happened to
frighten you so?"

"'Fore God, Massa Allen," ejaculated the black, succeeding by a great
effort in finding his voice, "you done can't sleep in this housn
to-night, ef ye do, ye'll be a dead man before morning."

As may be imagined, this information was not of a very agreeable nature,
indefinite as it was; I felt assured that my informant could be relied
on that something had occurred to endanger my safety, and I became
impatient to learn what he knew.

"Out with it, Jem," said I, "and let me know what it is all about." I
spoke cheerfully and confidently, and the coolness of my manner had the
effect of restoring the equilibrium of my sable friend, and, recovering
himself with an effort, he began to explain:

"I tell you what it is, Massa Allen, and I'se gwan to tell it mighty
quick. Ye see, de General hab got a lot of spies up de river at Cairo, a
watching of the Linkum sogers, and one o' dem fellows jes came in as you
were going up stairs. De berry minit dat he seed you he said to de man
what was wid him, 'Dat man is 'spicious; I seed him in Cincinnati two
weeks ago, and he ain't down here for no good,' and he started right off
for de General, to tell him all about it. I kem right up heah, massa,
and you must git away as fast as ye can."

This was too important to be ignored. I had no desire to be captured at
that time, and I had no doubt of the correctness of the porter's story.
I resolved to act at once upon the suggestion, and to make good my
escape before it was too late. My admonitory friend was fearfully in
earnest about getting me away, and he quickly volunteered to procure my
horse, which I had quartered in close proximity to the hotel, and to
furnish me with a guide who would see me safely through the lines and
outside of the city. Bidding Jem make all possible haste in his
movements, I gathered together my few belongings, and in a few minutes I
descended the stairs and made my exit through the rear of the house.
Through the faithfulness of Jem, and the careful guidance of the
watchful negro he had provided me with, I was soon riding away from
threatened danger and ere morning broke I had proceeded far upon my way.
How much service these faithful blacks had been to me, I did not fully
learn until some time afterwards, when I was informed by Timothy
Webster, who arrived in Memphis following my departure, and who thus
learned the full particulars of the exhausting pursuit of one of
Lincoln's spies, who had mysteriously disappeared from the chief hotel,
while a guard was being detailed to effect his arrest.

I met the faithful Jem several years later, when he had worked his way
as a refugee from his native State and entered the Union lines in
Virginia, and he was soon afterwards attached to my force, where he
proved his devotion in a manner that was quite convincing. My faithful
steed, who had become thoroughly rested after his long journey, bore me
safely through this danger, and in due time I entered the State of
Mississippi. Here rebellion and disunion were the order of the day, and
a widespread determination existed to fight the cause of the South to
the bitter end. Stopping one night at Grenada, I pushed on my way to
Jackson, and here I resolved to remain a day or two, in order to make a
thorough investigation of the place and its surroundings.

Putting up my horse, I engaged quarters for myself at the principal
hotel in the city, and feeling very much fatigued with my long journey,
I retired early to my room and passed a long night in refreshing sleep.

In the morning I arose about five o'clock, as is my general custom. I
was feeling in excellent health and spirits; my journey had thus far
been fully as successful as I could have desired; and safely concealed
about my person I had items of value that would amply repay me for the
fatigues I had undergone and the dangers I had passed. I had plans of
the roads, a description of the country, a pretty correct estimate of
the troops and their various locations and conditions, and altogether I
felt very well satisfied with myself and with the results of my mission.

As I descended the stairs, I noticed a fine soldierly officer standing
in the doorway, and after bidding him a hearty good-morning, I invited
him to accompany me to the saloon of the hotel, where we mutually
indulged in a decoction as is the universal custom in Southern cities.
After I had obtained my breakfast, it occurred to me that, before
attempting any active measures for the day, I owed it to myself to
procure the services of a barber for a much-needed shave. I had been
traveling for a number of days, and my face had been a stranger to a
razor for a long time, and I concluded I would be more presentable if I
consulted a tonsorial artist.

This was an unfortunate idea, and I soon had occasion to regret having
entertained it for a moment. I would have been far more contented if I
had bestowed no thoughts upon my grizzled beard, and allowed nature to
take its course with my hirsute appendage.

Entirely unconscious, however, of what was in store for me, I entered
the well-fitted saloon of the hotel, and patiently waited my turn to
submit myself to the deft fingers of the knight of the razor.

In response to the universal and well-understood call of "next!" I took
my seat in the luxuriously upholstered chair, and in a few minutes my
face was covered with the foamy lather applied by the dapper little
German into whose hands I had fallen.

I noticed when I sat down that the man wore a puzzled and speculative
look, as though he was struggling with some vexing lapse of memory, and
as he drew the keen edge of the razor across my face, his eyes were
fixed intensely upon my features. His manner annoyed me considerably,
and I was at a loss to account for his strange demeanor. Whatever ideas
I may have entertained with regard to this singular action were,
however, soon set at rest, only to give place to a feeling of unrestful
anger.

He had just cleared one side of my face of its stubby growth of hair,
when a smile irradiated his face, and with a look of self-satisfied
recognition and pride, he addressed me:

"Vy, how do you do, Mr. Bingerdon?"

Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet I could not have been more perfectly
amazed, and for a moment I could scarcely tell whether I was afoot or on
horseback. I devoutly wished that I was anywhere than with this Dutch
barber, whose memory was so uncomfortably retentive.

I had been too accustomed to sudden surprises, however, to lose my
self-control, and I replied to him, with an unmoved face and as stern a
voice as I could command:

"I am not Mr. Bingerdon, and I don't know the man."

"Oh yes, your name is Bingerdon, and you leev in Geecago."

The face of the German was so good-natured, and he appeared quite
delighted at recognizing me, but for myself I was feeling very
uncomfortable indeed. I did not know the man, nor what he knew of me. I
knew, however, that he was perfectly right about my identity, and I knew
also that it would be very dangerous for his knowledge to become
general.

"I tell you I don't know the man you are speaking of," said I, sternly.

[Illustration: "_If you say another word to me, I'll whip you on the
spot._" P. 201.]

"Oy, Mr. Bingerdon," he replied, in a grieved tone, "I know you well.
Don't you mind me shaving you in the Sherman House in Geecago, you was a
customer of mine."

The pertinacity of the man was simply exasperating, and fearing that his
memory would be likely to get me into trouble, as several people were
listening to our conversation, I resolved to end the difficulty at once.
Jerking the towel from around my neck and wiping the lather from the
unshaved portion of my face, I leapt from the chair, exclaiming angrily:

"I tell you I know nothing of you Mr. Bingerdon, or any other d----d
Yankee abolitionist, and if you say another word to me upon this
subject, I'll whip you on the spot!"

The barber presented a most ridiculous appearance; he was utterly
frightened at my manner, and yet so convinced was he that I was the man
he took me for, that he appeared more amazed at my denial, than at my
threats of violence.

Meanwhile, the occupants of the saloon began to crowd around us, and
several came in from the adjoining rooms. Turning to them with
well-simulated anger, I told them the story I had invented; I lived near
Augusta, Georgia; never was in Chicago, did not know Mr. Pinkerton or
any of his gang. Then I denounced the discomfited barber in round terms,
and finished by inviting the entire crowd to take a drink with me.

This they all did with alacrity, and by the time they had drained their
glasses, every one of the party were strong adherents of mine. We then
returned to the barber-shop, and so thoroughly was the crowd convinced
of my truthfulness, that they were eager to punish the innocent occasion
of my anger. One impetuous individual wanted to hang him on sight, and
his proposition was received with general favor; but finding I had
succeeded in evading detection for myself, I interfered in the poor
fellow's behalf and he was finally let off.

After another drink all round I managed to get away from the party, and
it was not long before I was upon my horse, and traveling away from the
possibility of a recurrence of such an accidental discovery. I procured
a razor and shaving materials, and performed that operation for myself,
as I did not care to excite curiosity by exhibiting my half-shaved face
to any more inquisitive barbers.

A few miles outside of the town I sold my horse, and concluding that I
had obtained as much information as was desirable at that time, and as I
had already been absent from headquarters longer than I had intended, I
made my way back to Cincinnati by a circuitous route, and reached there
in safety, well pleased with my work, and quite rejoiced to find that
General McClellan was fully satisfied with what I had learned.

CHAPTER XIII.

_East and West Virginia.--Seceding from Secession.--My Scouts in
Virginia.--A Rebel Captain Entertains "My Lord."--An old Justice Dines
with Royalty.--A Lucky Adventure.--A Runaway Horse.--A Rescue._

At this time the condition of affairs in the State of Virginia--the "Old
Dominion," as it was generally denominated--presented a most perplexing
and vexatious problem. The antagonistic position of the two sections of
that state demanded early consideration and prompt action on the part of
the Federal Government, both in protecting the loyal people in the
Western section, and of preserving their territory to the Union cause.
Within the borders of this commonwealth there existed two elements,
directly opposed to each other, and both equally pronounced in the
declaration of their political opinions. The lines of demarkation
between these diverse communities were the Allegheny Mountains, which
extended through the very middle of the state, from north-east to
south-west, and divided her territory into two divisions, slightly
unequal in size, but evidently different in topographical features and
personal characteristics.

From the nature of its earlier settlement, and by reason of climate,
soil and situation, Eastern Virginia remained the region of large
plantations, with a heavy slave population, and of profitable
agriculture, especially in the production of tobacco. West Virginia, on
the contrary, having been first settled by hunters, pioneers, lumbermen
and miners, possessed little in common with her more wealthy and
aristocratic neighbors beyond the mountains. They made their homes in
the wilds of the woods, and among the rocky formations, under which was
hidden the wealth they were seeking to develop, and in time this western
country became the seat of a busy manufacturing industry, with a
diversified agriculture for local consumption, while the east was
largely given up to the production of great staples for export. As a
natural result, the population and wealth of the eastern portion, which
was thus made to stand in the relation of a mere tributary province to
her grasping neighbor, who selfishly absorbed the general taxes for
local advantage.

The slave interest also entered largely into the creation and
continuance of this antagonistic feeling. According to a census, which
had been recently taken, it was ascertained that Eastern Virginia held
but a few thousands. It was not a matter of surprise, therefore that
secessionism should be rampant in the east, and that a Union sentiment
should almost universally prevail in the west. As the institution of
slavery was more or less the cause of the war, here, as in other parts
of the South, secession reared its most formidable front where the slave
interest predominated, and treason was more alert in the centers of
accumulated wealth and family pride, whose foundations were laid by the
suffering and the toil of the African bondsmen. The war had been waged
to defend the "Divine institution," and it was scarcely to be expected
that such a cause would be valiantly championed by men whose
self-reliance and personal independence had endeared to them the rights
of free and honorable manhood.

When the Convention of Virginia met to consider the question of
secession, the slave-holding dignitaries were somewhat startled by the
logical, but novel, declaration of one of the western members, that "the
right of revolution can be exercised as well by a portion of the
citizens of a State against their State government, as it can be
exercised by the whole people of a State against their Federal
Government." This was followed by another, more pointed and
revolutionary, "that any change in the relation Virginia now sustains to
the Federal Government, against the wishes of even a respectable
minority of her people, would be sufficient to justify them in changing
their relation to the State government by separating themselves from
that section of the State that had thus wantonly disregarded their
interests and defied their will."

The convention, however, denying the pertinency of this logic, passed
its secret ordinance of secession on the 17th day of April, and within a
week popular movements were on foot in the various towns and counties of
Western Virginia, to effect a division of the State. The people united
in a unanimous protest against the efforts of the slave-holding
aristocrats to carry them into a cotton confederacy, and a determination
to "secede from secession," was manifested everywhere. The loyal
determination was rapidly followed by popular organization, an appeal
for assistance was made to the government at Washington, who promised
them countenance and support, and on the 13th day of May, delegates from
twenty-five counties of West Virginia met at Wheeling, to devise such
action as would enable them to fully and finally repudiate the
treasonable revolt of East Virginia.

Many circumstances favored their position. The state of Ohio,
immediately adjoining, was organizing her military force of volunteers,
and Western Virginia was, not long after, attached to the department of
the Ohio under command of General McClellan. The blockade of Washington,
and other events, had operated to keep the Western troops on the Ohio
line, and the Unionists of West Virginia found a protecting military
force at once in their immediate vicinity, with a commanding officer who
was instructed to give them every encouragement and support.

Meanwhile, Governor Letcher, of Virginia, ignoring the attitude assumed
by the people of the West, had issued his proclamation calling for the
organization of the state militia, and including Western Virginia in the
call. Prompted by a spirit of arrogance or over-confidence, he at an
early day dispatched officers to that locality to collect and organize
the militia of Western Virginia. Owing to the sparsity of the
population, and the hilly and mountainous situation of the country,
there were but two principal localities or lines of travel, where a
concentration of forces could be best effected--one of these being the
line of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and the other the valley of the
Great Kanawha river. In these districts Governor Letcher sent his
recruiting agents, but they soon returned reports of a very discouraging
character. The rebel emissaries found the feeling very bitter: that
Union organizations existed in most of the counties, and that while
fragments of rebel companies were here and there springing up, it was
very evident that no local force sufficient to hold the country, would
respond to the Confederate appeal, while the close proximity of Union
forces at several points along the Ohio, pointed to a short tenure of
Confederate authority.

This information was not at all cheering to the rebel Governor of the
State, and he determined to maintain his authority in the disaffected
districts with armed forces from the eastern portion of the State. To
accomplish this, he detailed a few available companies from Staunton to
march toward Beverly, from which point they could menace and overawe the
town of Grafton, the junction of the main stem of the Baltimore and Ohio
Railroad, with its branches extending to Parkersburg and Wheeling. The
inhabitants showed more alacrity, however, to take up arms for the
government than for Governor Letcher or General Lee. A Union Western
Virginia regiment, under the command of Colonel Kelley, began to gather
recruits rapidly at Wheeling, while the rebel camps between Beverly and
Grafton were comparatively deserted, and Colonel Porterfield, who had
been sent under orders of Governor Letcher, found his efforts at
recruiting decidedly unsuccessful.

On the 23rd day of May the State voted upon the ordinance of secession,
and East Virginia, under complete military domination, accepted the
ordinance, while West Virginia, comparatively free, voted to reject the
idea of secession.

Immediately after the result was ascertained, the rebel troops became
aggressive, and Colonel Porterfield dispatched several of his companies
to burn the bridge on the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad.

The appearance of these troops was quickly brought to the notice of the
Federal authorities at Washington. On the 24th day of May the Secretary
of War and General Scott telegraphed this information to General
McClellan, and inquired "whether its influence could not be
counteracted." General McClellan at once replied in the affirmative,
and this was the sole order he received from Washington regarding a
campaign in Virginia.

On the 26th, the General ordered two regiments to cross the river at
Wheeling, and two others at Parkersburg. They were to move forward
simultaneously by the branch railroads from each of these points to