CHAPTER XXV.
GENO—FREDERICKSBURG—A CHAPTER OF WAR HISTORY NOT IN The Century PAPERS.
It will be remembered that, on a previous occasion, I had made an entrée into the town of Fredericksburg, on the bare back of an old horse, on the morning in August after the night of horror in which I was pursued by Rebels, suffering from the attack of bloodhounds.
On the occasion of this, my second visit, I rolled over the temporary railroad bridge into the old depot at Fredericksburg on a freight train, dressed—well, in the best store clothes that money would buy at that time in Washington.
I am not sure of the exact date on which I got into Fredericksburg, en route to Richmond; it does not matter much, as I do not pretend to have kept an accurate record of the dates, however, it was along in April or May, judging by my recollection of the weather at that time. McClellan's great Army of the Potomac was on the Peninsula only a few miles from Richmond, while Fitz-John Porter had been up to Hanover Court House, about half way between Fredericksburg and Richmond. General McDowell was in command of quite a large, but, as I recollect it, a widely scattered and very much mixed up force at Fredericksburg.
The problem was to unite McClellan's and McDowell's forces against Richmond. There was just this little gap of some ten or fifteen miles between these two armies, and it was this bit of neutral ground that General Anson Stager, of the United States Military Telegraph Corps, was so desirous of opening communication through, because the "Washington Government" could only hear from McClellan by way of the slow medium of dispatch boats across the bay to the nearest point of telegraph.
I was directed by Mr. Covode to report in person, with a letter to the Chief Engineer, or Superintendent, of the Richmond & Fredericksburg Military Railroad, General Haupt, who was recently the Chief Engineer and builder of the Northern Pacific Railroad. Exactly what was to be the nature of my duties I do not now recall, if, indeed, I ever knew.
I was shown to the Exchange, or may be it was the Planter's; anyway, it was the best hotel, located on the hill, on one of the principal streets leading out toward Marye's Heights. It was not a particularly hospitable place for me, because I saw at once that the young boy, who ran the office for his mother, was only there to collect all the money he could from the "Yankee Invaders," while the father and elder brother were probably in the Rebel camps outside of town, only waiting a favorable opportunity to return and scalp the boarders.
The town was full, literally and spiritually, not only of McDowell's soldiers, who were in camp all around, but of all sorts of strange people in civilians' dress—adventurers, sutlers, traders, whisky smugglers, strange women—in fact, the main street of the quiet, sleepy old aristocratic town was a perfect bedlam in 1862, as compared with my first visit in August, 1861.
That evening, before dark, I saw on the street a greater variety of life than I had met in Washington on any one evening during my stay there. These numerous hangers-on of the armies had been, to a great degree, excluded from the Peninsula, so they had swarmed up to Fredericksburg as the next best place for them, to be nearest their favorite regiments, and "on the road to Richmond," where they all expected to rejoin McClellan's army in a very few days.
In addition to the great number of officers and men of the army, there were several batches of naval officers from one or two gunboats of the Potomac Flotilla, which had sailed up the Rappahannock and were anchored below town.
Altogether, it was what might be termed a lively town. The ordinary, quiet population had been suddenly increased to 40,000 or 50,000 of McDowell's army and followers, which had settled down around the hills and the streets in one night, like a flock of bluebirds or crows at a roosting place.
During my walk about the town that evening, I ran against a crowd of contrabands on the sidewalk, who were watching with the greatest interest the antics of a pair of New York street arabs, or newsboys, who were dressed up in their rags doing some song-and-dance acts, to the great delight of the country soldiers and assembled contrabands. There was even an attempt at a theatrical performance after early candle-lighting. Indeed it was only after taps that the Provost-Marshal's Guard made any attempt to suppress the fun.
It did not occur to me, until after I had undressed myself and had "doused the glim," while looking out of the window toward the Virginia hill, since so well known as Marye's Heights, that there was any possibility of the Rebels making a sudden dash on the town and capturing us all. I seemed to realize, only when I was alone, that there might be some chance for those Rebel fellows getting in there in sufficient force to gobble us all up.
As I peered through the darkness in the direction of Richmond, I appreciated pretty strongly the fact that I was getting close to the front of that Rebel gang again, and I had not the least desire to get inside their lines as a prisoner. I didn't sleep well, so early next morning I started out to find a place to stay, which did not impress me so strongly as being the house of my enemy.
It was my good luck, or my fate, to have met with a clever gentleman in Mr. Jimmy Wilson, of Middletown, Pennsylvania. He was one of those happy, companionable persons, to whom one naturally attaches one's self to on first acquaintance. His business in Fredericksburg was that of a trader to the army, and he had secured some special privileges in this direction through his townsman, General Simon Cameron, while he was yet Secretary of War.
It may be that Mr. Wilson was attracted to me by something of a selfish motive, through a knowledge of my connection with the railroad in an official capacity, by which he might be able to better facilitate his business interests in the transportation of his "supplies" over the road and evading too close inspections.
In the shrewd manner peculiar to the business of traveling salesmen, he had discovered the very best place in the town to live, to which he kindly consented to introduce me. It was through him that I first met my "fate," in the family of Captain Wells. There were in this happy and accomplished household quite a bevy of young ladies. "All were young, but one was beautiful."
It is quite a long, and I think may be an interesting, story, which is indeed quite too romantic for this narrative of facts. I will only say that Geno, the youngest, was, to my eyes, all that may be described as a beautiful, budding young girl.
The eldest, Miss Sue, had been a belle in Georgetown before the war; another, Miss Mamie, was noted for her sweet disposition. The father, I grieve to add, was suspected by our officers of being a blockade-runner for the Rebels. He had been engaged on the regular underground line between Richmond and Washington, via the Potomac River, since the commencement of the war. Previous to this he had been the owner and captain of a steamer plying on the Rappahannock River. Through this means he had gained valuable information of the river and little bays of that part of Virgina, and knew all about the inlets and outlets of the adjacent water, and was, in consequence of this fact, probably suspected of being a most valuable ally to the Rebel Government. His sympathies were openly with the South, but, as this was the general feeling among the citizens, no one attached importance to the Captain's personal sentiments.
Between my infatuation for Geno and the sense of duty, I had a troublesome old time of it in the weeks and months and years that followed this first evening in the Wells home.
It's pretty much the same old story of love at first sight and trouble forever after. I was politely invited to join the family circle in the parlor after tea. The mother was as youthful in her happy manner as her daughters. The genial Captain permitted himself to be prevailed upon by the younger children to sing one or two comic songs, which were received with hilarious applause. The three daughters vied with the others in their polite efforts to entertain such a dull boy, as I must certainly have become after encountering the apparition of Geno that evening. Jimmy Wilson's presence seemed to help me out a little. A group played cards, while some one banged the piano and sang "Bonnie Blue Flag," "Dixie," and, by way of a tease, "Yankee Doodle." The elder daughter, Miss Sue, was a decidedly beautiful girl, of perhaps twenty, quite lively, and perhaps a little bit of a flirt. I state this opinion generally. I did not entertain it so fully at that time as I did subsequently. Miss Mamie was the good girl of the family, while Geno was the beauty.
If I were not writing this story myself, I should be tempted to honestly declare that Geno was not only the prettiest, but the sweetest, girl I ever saw, and I have seen a great many in my life. She was not tall, but a slender, graceful, womanly figure, dressed in dark blue, she required no artificial aids to her fresh young beauty. Her face was sweetly intelligent, and, while not lacking in resolution, it was marked by that shyness which belongs to young girls who are well-born and bred in comparative seclusion.
GENO WAS NOT ONLY THE PRETTIEST, BUT THE SWEETEST GIRL I EVER SAW.
It was decreed that Geno should sit near me that evening on a low sofa, located in a corner of the parlor. All the chairs were occupied by the rest of the company, either by accident or through Miss Sue's propensity to tease her younger sister and myself.
Geno, though but between fifteen and sixteen at that time, was, in her manner, quite as easy and winning as her elder sisters. She sat beside me on the sofa, her luxuriant, dark hair bewitchingly plaited in a roll over her head, wearing a low-neck dress, short skirts, while her bare arms gracefully held a guitar, on which she skillfully played the accompaniment and sweetly sang the old, old Spanish serenade, Juanita. (I advise the young ladies to get a guitar and practice on this song; it will catch a boy every time.) It was that song, and the beautiful, large, dark, expressive eyes of this dear little girl that put me in Old Capitol Prison.
I was a "goner" from that moment, and have never gotten entirely over it in all these years.
I do not say it boastingly at all, but for a truth. I believe I should at that time have felt more at my ease if I had been "scouting" or sitting around a camp-fire with Rebels instead of beside the little girl whose dress touched me. It was a clear case of love at first sight.
The Wells family were natives of my own State, having been embargoed during the war because of the father's steamboat interests on the river; and thereby hangs another tale not pertinent to this narrative, which I hope, subsequently, to give to the world.
I had been introduced to the family as a civilian employé of the military railway, and had been able to present some flattering letters of introduction from Mr. John W. Forney, Mr. Covode, and other prominent Pennsylvania gentlemen. I was, of course, made to feel quite at home.
I may as well admit frankly I was about Geno's house more than duty warranted; so much so, indeed, that the amiable mother must have become tired of me. I seldom went to the railroad headquarters, and I had lost all interest in the capture of Richmond and in Capitola.
Of course, I felt obliged to make an appearance of reporting for duty to the railroad office occasionally.
With a desire to learn something of the probable advance to Richmond, I had spent considerable time about the Provost-Marshal's Office, where I had become quite well acquainted with a young officer on detached duty.
His interest probably sprung from having seen me in the company of the pretty girl, with whom he desired to become acquainted through me.
On the occasion of one of these visits, I was questioned quite closely by another of the Staff officers about the politics of the Wells family, and especially of the sympathies of the ladies for Confederate officers.
Perhaps I was not in proper frame of mind to dispassionately discuss this question of Geno's family affairs with a strange officer, and it is probable that I somewhat rashly resented the supposed impertinence.
I was informed that it was through the usual gossipy information volunteered, by some unfriendly Unionists of the town, that this officer at headquarters had learned that Captain Wells had been engaged in blockade-running for the Rebels. I exclaimed that I knew better; that my relations with the family were of an intimate character; that Captain Wells was a native of my own State; that all his daughters had been born and educated in the Wyoming Valley, and that he was in Virginia solely and only because his business of steamboating had embargoed him there, and he had chosen to remain himself and sacrifice his boats, rather than abandon his family. All this was said in a positive manner, and with probably a little more animation than the subject justified. It had, however, the undesirable effect of bringing out prominently a trifling affair that occurred in connection with the family, which I must relate, as part of my experience which soon followed, just to show that "trifles light as air, are to the jealous, confirmations strong as proofs of Holy Writ."
It will be remembered by the old soldiers that, early in the war, it was the custom to display flags promiscuously wherever they could find a place to string one in a Virginia town.
REFUSING IN HER VERY DECIDED MANNER TO WALK UNDER "THAT FLAG."
Soldiers who were in Fredericksburg with McDowell, in 1862, will know that over the main streets of the town hung innumerable flags, so that the natives must either walk under the flag or stay indoors altogether.
Miss Sue Wells, like most bright girls of her age who lived in the South, was fond of tormenting our officers, "just for fun, you know." She insisted, in the company of Union officers, that she was a Rebel, but I was quietly informed by the family that, when the Confederates first had possession of the town, she was a Union girl to them.
On this and several other questions Miss Sue and I differed quite decidedly. The sequence and truthfulness of this story compels me to say here that Miss Sue and I quarreled all the time (after I had become fairly established in the family). One day, while walking with her along the main street of the town, we encountered one of the numerous flags that were suspended over the sidewalk. Miss Sue put her little foot down (and I know positively that she had a little foot), refusing in her very decided manner to walk under "that flag!"
What could I do? The street was full of soldiers and officers, whose attention was being attracted toward us by my taking her arm and attempting to force her to accompany me under the flag. I explained that there were flags on the other side of the street,
Flags to the right of us,
Flags to the left of us,
and flags every place; that we would not dare to go around it; but the more I talked and urged, the more contrary she grew, and to prevent a further scene on the street, we retraced our steps.
That little act on the streets of Fredericksburg, in the summer of 1862, is on record to-day in the war archives as part of the specifications in a charge of disloyalty against myself, on which I was subsequently arrested and confined in Old Capitol Prison.
It is a shameful fact, that my early record for the Union at Fort Pickens, and the subsequent year of service with a rope about my neck, was, for a short time, completely shadowed by this silly performance with a young lady in Fredericksburg. Not only this, but it was, perhaps, the indirect cause of this young lady's father's banishment from his home and the confiscation of his property.
The officer who had reminded me of this incident undertook to give me some advice as to my association or intimacy in a Rebel family.
He further astonished me by saying they had information of a piratical scheme being hatched, which had for its object the seizure of some of the regular line of steamers plying on the Chesapeake Bay, and Captain Wells was to act as pilot. The officer explained to me further that the plan, as they had learned of it, was for a party of Rebels, disguised as passengers and laborers, to board one of these steamers in Baltimore, and, after she was out in the bay, at midnight, they were to throw off their masks, seize the boat, confine the officers and, under the pilotage of Geno's father, run her into Rebel waters as a prize.
This was indeed startling intelligence, that for a moment staggered me. I realized that a more suitable person to do the work could not have been selected than Captain Wells.
The officer said, as they had no proof of this at all, he had mentioned it to me with a view of having me look the matter up; that my relations with the family were of such a character as to enable me to get on to the real facts. I left the headquarters feeling very much depressed.
After another enjoyable evening spent at the Wells house following this conversation at Provost Headquarters, I went to my quarters quite disturbed in heart and mind as to my duty.
With the sweet voice of "Juanita" still ringing in my ears, and the memory of her beautiful eyes seemingly appealing to my tenderest sympathies, I went to bed with my head in a whirl, and dropped into a restless sleep without having settled the question in my own mind satisfactorily as to her father's guilt. There was no question as to the Captain's being entirely competent to pilot or even command such an expedition, and I may as well cut this story short by the frank admission that, had he not been the father of a very pretty girl, I would have jumped at the same conclusion as the officer.
I was, however, unwilling to believe that the father of such an interesting family, all of whom had been born and reared in Pennsylvania, would become the leader of a piratical gang. I concluded at last that I would postpone any action, for a while at least. I could do this with the better grace, as I was not specially engaged in secret service at that time. I rather relished the truth, too, that the failure of the Secretary of War to recognize my former services relieved me from any obligation to act as "spotter" for the Pinkerton detectives.
But after having slept over the matter, and while enjoying a walk the next morning among the neighboring camps, over which floated the "emblem," I suddenly regained my senses, for a little while at least, and made up my mind that it would be worse than traitorous for me, by my silence and apparent association, to permit those Maryland sympathizers to go on and mature a plan to hire a gang of Baltimore plug-uglies to play the pirate on unarmed vessels on the bay, within sight of our armies. I could, at least, put the officials on their guard. I walked back toward my "office," where I briefly wrote the rumor as it had, without my volition, been detailed to me, and at once put the letter in form to reach Mr. Covode through the improvised mail service then existing between Washington and the army of McDowell. I felt better for having done this much. I had also advised Mr. Covode that I was in a position to follow up the matter from this clew, and, if it could be confirmed, I would give the information directly to himself, and no one else. I expect, too, that I was indiscreet enough to have taken this opportunity to ventilate my own rather fresh opinions of Secretary Stanton; because just then I was smarting under his seeming indifference to and neglect of my services and claims. I am sure that my letter contained some unnecessary criticisms on Mr. P. H. Watson, Assistant Secretary, as well as the Secret Service Corps, which was under his direction, and Maj. Eckert, of the Telegraph Corps.
This letter was intended as a private communication to my friend Covode, and I had particularly cautioned him not to permit certain War Department influences to get hold of the rumors, as I wanted to work it out myself. I learned subsequently, to my sorrow, that this personal letter, containing both the information and the criticism, was sent to the War Office at once as an important paper. Anybody will see that it was not only a mistake of my own to have written in this way, but also of Mr. Covode's to have shown it; but it was one of that statesman's "privileges" to mix things up. It probably never occurred to him—as I afterward heard—that the principal effect of the criticisms, coupled with the "information," would be to impress upon the War Department officials the suspicion that Covode had employed me as one of his agents to play the "spy" on our own officials, for the benefit of the Congressional Committee of the War.
I was not very much bothered about the consequences of such things at that time. I was in love, which will account for a good many of my mistakes.
When I went to my newly-found home, at Capt. Wells's house, the evening of the same day on which I had written and mailed this letter, I was received so kindly and courteously into the house by the genial Captain himself, that I began to feel that I had been guilty of an awfully shabby trick in having reported, even privately to Mr. Covode, a private conversation with this Staff officer in regard to mine host.
Indeed, I was feeling so uncomfortable over what seemed to have been an ungracious return for favors received, that I took the first opportunity to get out of the Captain's presence, and, in the seclusion of my room that night, I inwardly resolved that I would, if possible, attempt to modify my report by another letter to follow the first.
The evening was spent in the little parlor, as on the many previous occasions. I was treated as one of the family, and entertained in the most agreeable manner by the accomplished ladies of this happy household. Each night we had music. Of course, Juanita, with the guitar, accompanied by Geno, became one feature of all others that was always so charmingly attractive to me. The Captain himself sang a number of comic songs with good effect, while the elder daughter, Miss Sue, exerted herself in a pleasant way to create a little fun for the company at my own and Geno's expense. Col. Hoffman, Mr. Wilson and myself furnished the only audience, while a happy-faced, brisk little mother supplied the refreshments, and made us all feel at home.
This general attempt at a description of one evening must suffice for the many, many happy days and evenings that I spent in Fredericksburg during the months of McDowell's occupation of that country. As I have previously stated, I could furnish the material for a romance based on wonderful facts connected with my different visits here that would make a large-sized book in itself. This is simply a blunt narrative of fact.
This is an absolutely "true love" story, and I am giving correct names and actual incidents, realizing that I may be talking to some of the survivors of McDowell's army, who may have been "thar or tharabouts".
The Colonel Hoffman referred to above was in command of the regiment that had control of the town at this time. The Colonel having known the Wells family in the North, was glad of the opportunity to meet them, and during his stay in town lived with them in the house with Mr. Wilson and myself. His regiment had been recruited somewhere in the neighborhood of Elmira, New York.
As soon as I could see the Colonel alone, I took the opportunity to tell him the story of the Captain's alleged complicity in the Chesapeake Bay piracy. To my surprise and gratification, he blurted out rather savagely: "I don't believe a word of it. Why, I've known Frank Wells all my life. No one at home ever accused him of any such traits of character as this. Why," continued the Colonel, with a show of disgust, "it's impossible. He couldn't be a disloyal man; he comes of Puritan stock, from away back. I've seen myself a family tombstone up in Long Island which shows that his ancestors were buried there as early as 1671. Why, boy, they came over in the Mayflower."
This seemed to settle it with Colonel Hoffman, but he added, in an explanatory way: "I suppose it's one of those 'Unionists' stories. Every dog who has a grievance against his neighbor, in war times, runs to the nearest Provost-Marshal to get the army on to his enemy. Wells came down here to run his boats on the Rappahannock; that was his business. He tells me that he, with a majority of the citizens here, did not believe there would be a war, or that Virginia would go out of the Union, and, therefore, he did not attempt to get away until it was too late. The Confederates wouldn't let him take his boats North. When our fellows got there, he ran his boats below town to prevent the Rebels burning them, as they did all the rest; and when the gunboats came up the river they allowed a lot of rough sailors to seize and confiscate his boats. Their object was prize money, and it is probably to their interest to create an impression that he was disloyal, that they may secure this money. I've told Frank he ought to resist this, but he is mad about it; swears they are robbers and thieves; and it is likely he and the girls have given offense in this way to some of our officers."
The Colonel's decided talk fully confirmed me in the belief that the story of the Captain's complicity was the outcome of some personal grievance.
Feeling that I had been guilty of a mean action, in reporting the names to Mr. Covode, I sat down and wrote him the second letter, retracting all that the first contained, and added that the mistake arose from the desire of some enemies of mine, or the Captain, to get me mixed up with the War Department.
I do not remember just what I did write, but if the reader will put himself in my place at that time, or try to realize what an enthusiastic, love-sick boy would be liable to write under such circumstances, in defense of his intended father-in-law, you will be apt to reach the conclusion that I do now, that I put my foot in it badly.
Unfortunately, I did not mail the letter in time to overtake the first one. I was delayed by engaging myself to accompany the ladies the next day on a visit to the grave and monument of the mother of General Washington. As all know, the mother of President Washington lived, died, and is buried in this historic old town. The old house, or all that is left of it, still stands on one of the streets. The tomb and monument is situated on rising ground some distance in the outskirts.
Most of the soldiers of the Army of the Potomac have visited this spot, at least all who were interested in such matters did, who were about Fredericksburg, and it will not be necessary to describe it.
It was arranged that we should make a select picnic party of our visit to the tomb of the Mother of our Country, and, as we expected to make a day of it, one day's rations for a dozen, composed of the usual girls' rations of sweet cake and sour pickle, were packed in a big lunch basket.
The picnic was a pleasant affair, of course, because Geno was there. For the time being I had entirely forgotten or, at least, lost interest in the letter of explanation which I had intended to send to Mr. Covode on that day, as well as everything else but Geno. On our return through town that same evening, I saw for the first time a New York regiment in full Zouave uniform marching in their cat-like or tip-toe step, carrying their guns in a graceful, easy manner as they marched along in their picturesque style. The band played and, seemingly, the whole regiment of a thousand bass voices sang "John Brown's body," as I have never heard it since. The effect upon our own party and the few loyal citizens was magical, and I leave the reader to imagine the sensations of the Rebel occupants of the houses along the line of march. The shades were closed—they always were—but that did not entirely conceal a number of bright-flashing eyes, that one could always find on close inspection peeping through the cracks.
After relieving my mind by sending the letter in the evening I turned in to enjoy myself freely in the society of the ladies, and became so much immersed in the pursuit of this new-found delight that I lost sight of all other business. Every day became a picnic and every evening a party.
One day, while loafing about my office down at the depot, I observed a strange-looking fellow hanging about. Every time I would look toward him I discovered his eyes had been upon me. He was not a good spy, or detective, because he at once gave himself away by his too naked manner of observing things. I got on to him at once, because he did not seem to do anything but shadow me.
There was also a telegraph office at the depot, the wire extending, I believe, only as far as the railroad was operated, to Aquia Creek. I had not met the operator personally, and, as had been my invariable practice, I had carefully concealed from all strangers, even friends, the fact that I was also a sound operator. I knew that neither the detective nor the operator suspected me of being an operator. As soon as I discovered that a suspicious watch had been put upon me, it stirred me all up, and served most effectively to recall me to some sense of the duties or obligations that were expected of me. For the day or two following I passed more of my time within the hearing of the telegraph instrument and less in the parlor of Captain Wells.
One morning I saw the Pinkerton detective hand a piece of paper to the operator, who quietly put it on his telegraph desk. I had to wait a long, long time, and was forced to manufacture a good many excuses for lying around the office so closely.
There is something which I cannot explain that instinctively seems to satisfy one of certain conditions or impressions of another's mind. In modern mind-reading a telegraph operator has a very great advantage over any of the professional mind-readers, from the fact that, by a simple contact of the hand to any part of the body, the telegraph operator can telegraph by silent taps or touches or by simple pressure of the hands the characters of the telegraph alphabet, and thus spell out rapidly any word. Perhaps this fact will account for some of the recent phenomena in this direction.
As I have said, I was satisfied in my own mind, instinctively, as it were, that this fellow was a War Department spy on Captain Wells and, perhaps myself, and I was just sharp and cunning enough when my blood was up to determine to beat him at his own game. He walked off some distance while I hung to the office, apparently very much interested in reading a copy of the Christian Commission Army Bible, which had found its way into the office there. I heard the operator call up his office, and, after doing some routine railroad business, he sent the message to some one of the chief detectives in Washington, which was, in effect, as nearly as I can remember, a sort of report or excuse for the failure to arrest a certain party, because he was absent that day, but was expected to return at night, when the arrest would be made.
Of course I saw that I was not the party referred to, because I was not absent. It did not take long, however, to find out, after some investigation and private talk with the operator, that Mr. Pinkerton had sent a man down there to look after the matter referred to in my letter to Covode. Of course Covode had indiscreetly rushed to the office and presented my letter, without once thinking of the severe reflections on the officials, or in anyway considering my interests. He only thought of the proposed scheme to get possession of the steamers. I suppose that he felt in his honest, patriotic heart that it must be thwarted at once. That's the way Mr. Covode did things. He told me subsequently that he felt that my letter would show Stanton and Watson that I was a valuable man.
But I was not willing that the detectives of Pinkerton should have the credit of working up this plan, and, aside from little personal feeling against the Pinkerton spy and my sympathies and sentiment for the father of Geno, I at once determined to defeat their aspirations; and I succeeded—to my own subsequent discomfiture.
Determined to prevent the arrest of Geno's father, because I believed him innocent, and realizing that I was responsible for the espionage that had been placed upon the family, and without a single thought as to the consequence to myself, I went quietly from the telegraph office to the Wells house, only a few blocks distant.
Geno smilingly welcomed me as she opened the door (she had learned to look for my coming, I have since thought,) and to her pleasant greeting I abruptly demanded, in a tone and with an agitation that must have seemed strange, "I want to see your father right away." To the polite response, "Why, there is nobody at home but me; come in;" I could only say, rather nervously, perhaps, "I must see your father or your mother on private business. I can not talk to you until this matter is settled first."
Geno turned her big, black eyes on me quickly, quizzically, looked into my heart, seemingly satisfied herself that I was very much in earnest, she observed, with a smile: "You can see father to-night, if you wish."
"I must see him before to-night. Where is he?"
My animated manner, or perhaps urgent demands in the hallway, had attracted Mrs. Wells's attention in an upper room. Making an appearance at the head of the stairway, she asked, pleasantly: "What in the world is the matter with you?"
"Oh, nothing much. Come down, please. I have something to say to you and the Captain, privately."
The happy mother descended only to the landing, where she halted long enough to see whether it would be safe enough for her to come any closer. Geno having heard me express a desire to talk privately to her parents, had suddenly disappeared through a side door; while Mrs. Wells, laughingly, stepped down, and, without waiting to hear from me, said, in her gentle, motherly way:
"Now, my dear boy, don't you talk to me about that. Why Geno is only a child."
"Oh, no; not that—not now. I came to tell you that the Captain will be arrested to-night. He must leave town at once."
With a few words more of explanation, the loyal wife and mother was alive to the gravity of the situation. I left the house as suddenly as I had entered it, after cautioning them under no circumstances to admit that I gave this information, as I would be hung too. I was back at the station before they had discovered that I had been away.
My plan, as detailed to Covode, was to have quietly waited and watched for some tangible proofs of this rumored piracy. If they had left me alone I should have worked it up for all it was worth, and reported the result to the War Department. But they jumped in and agitated the oyster, which of course closed up the oyster securely. I admit that on seeing this attempt at poaching on my premises, that I flushed the game, believing that the end would justify the means. I was only apprehensive that some member of the family might accidentally say something that would indicate that I was responsible for the escape of Captain Wells.
I became for a day or two subsequently a most regular attendant at the Department Telegraph Office.
I learned by my telegraph facilities that this Pinkerton spy had reported to his chief that "Wells has not yet returned," that "the party was still absent," and later that he had "escaped South." Luckily for me he did not learn of the short and interesting return visit the Captain made, and, in consequence, he had no occasion to immediately investigate the Captain's taking off, so that several days elapsed before he found it out. The Captain did not go South to join the Rebels, but, instead, went North, visiting during his exile a married daughter living in Baltimore, and subsequently published a little family history, in which he gives "a friend" the credit for the warning and also for supplying a pass over the railroad to Aquia Creek.
I found that I had made my way clear in thus "breaking the ice" when I should want to ask for Geno's hand. I had killed two or three birds at one shot that day. I had thwarted Assistant Secretary of War Watson and his Pinkerton crowd in their attempt at arresting Captain Wells on mere rumors. I had established myself in the good graces of Geno's entire family. I had prevented her father from being imprisoned. In addition to all this, I succeeded in getting myself into Old Capitol Prison, by order of Secretary of War E. M. Stanton, and became a companion of Belle Boyd and numerous other Rebel spies. But I'll have to tell some other things that occurred at Fredericksburg before this unfortunate episode came to pass.
I need not say that, after this episode, I felt that the fate of the entire Wells family was in my hands. From that day on I was what may be slangily termed "solid" with that happy family. I believe I have mentioned the fact previously that Geno was a strikingly beautiful young girl of sixteen, and that I was twenty. I may be permitted to even say, parenthetically, that there has been nothing in my adventurous life nearly so fascinating as were the summer days in which I was "isolated" in company with the little girl who lived, as it were, between the two armies, at Fredericksburg.
To be sure the soldiers were there, or thereabout, in force.
The crack of the picket's rifle—almost the distant boom of McClellan's battles around Richmond—indeed, the smoke of war was in the air at the time, and no one knew what a day would bring forth. This was not exactly a period well adapted to sincere love-making. But no one who has known of Geno could be made to believe that she could be insincere, or that anyone could insincerely make love to her.
We were together nearly all the time, but I do not think we were sentimental in our talk.
There was this difference to me between Geno and all my other girls. In her presence it did not seem to be at all necessary to do any sentimental talking. I was always impressed by her soul-piercing eyes with the feeling that she knew it all anyhow, and it was no use in talking—I had almost written lying. I believe I told Geno more of my life than I ever intended anybody to know. I simply couldn't help it. But I shall never do this subject justice until I write out the "Romance of this Secret Love and Secret Service." This is only a narrative of facts.
I believe I have said somewhere in this story that Geno was a pretty little girl, but, at the risk of repetition, I will say that her beauty was of a kind that may not be easily described or portrayed. It was her eyes—her beautiful dark-brown eyes—that were in themselves a soul.
In every man's life there is one moment, or one single memory, that is more cherished than all others. I shall have to tell of this one moment of my life, which occurred the day before I left.
One pleasant afternoon I happened around to the Wells house, as usual, knowing very well that Geno, dressed in her most becoming of summer toilets, would soon join me on the veranda. Perhaps I was a little earlier than usual at my accustomed seat; anyway, I became a little impatient at Geno not putting in an appearance promptly, and thinking perhaps she might not have become aware of my presence, stepped into the hall to try to make it known to her. The windows had all been closely shaded, to exclude the bright August sunlight, giving the hallway a cool and inviting half-darkened appearance. Stepping into the parlor, affecting a little cough as a signal that I was around the house, I had scarcely seated myself when my quick ear caught the sound of her footsteps as she quickly tripped down the stairway.
Lest I have neglected to mention it, I will say here that Geno was a sweet girl, with beautiful eyes, and, moreover, she was womanly in figure and graceful in action, in that hers was of the ethereal style of beauty so aptly described by Longfellow's "Evangeline." And she was sixteen, while I was twenty. Rising to greet her, I advanced to the door just as her lithe figure darkened it. She looked so nice, and you know the parlor and hallway were shrouded by that dim, religious light one reads about. I was tempted, and, yielding to the youthful impulse, grasped both her hands in mine, and attempted to steal a kiss—the first kiss of love.
I had by her quiet dignity of manner during my visit been repelled from attempting anything of a too familiar kind on such a short war-acquaintance. She quickly dropped her head, turning her face from me, while I held both hands tightly in my own, and uttered only that one little word of four letters "Geno." Whether it was the tone of voice, the imploring or entreating manner and earnest emphasis, or a mild reproach, I knew not. She answered not a word, but turned her pretty blushing face up to mine, while her beautiful eyes pierced to my soul, and I—I—oh!
Here I drop my pen, put my feet on the desk on which I have been writing this, lay my head back in my lazy chair, and with both hands pressed on my face I bring back this one blissful moment of my life twenty-five years agone, as if it were but yesterday. I can not write of it. It's a "true love" story, as the sequel will show, and none but those who have been there in war-times will appreciate it.
Before I could do it again she had deftly slipped away from me, and, like a frightened deer, glided into a dark corner of the parlor; from behind a chair she blushingly cast reproachful glances toward me, while she rearranged the hair that she had taken so much pains to bewitchingly do up, and that had so long delayed her appearance.
There is a song, and of course plenty of melody and poetry in it, which I have frequently asked friends to sing—"Il Bacio"—which more aptly describes this one blissful moment than my pen can write.
After this there was a sort of an understanding between us that all lovers, who have been there, will understand, and it is not necessary for me to explain.
I had Geno's first love; and it is a true saying that, in a woman's first love, she loves her lover; in all the rest, she loves love.
I have been in love—oh, often—so many times that I cannot enumerate all, but Geno was my "war girl"; and all old soldiers will agree with me that there is a something in the very memories of love and war that touch the heart in a way that is not reached by any other feeling.
Do not for a moment imagine that there was any attempt on the part of this truly happy family to take any advantage of the tender susceptibilities of the "Boy Spy." They knew absolutely nothing of my past record.
"Through the rifted smoke-clouds of the great rebellion" of twenty-five years ago I am relating a little love story from real life, that seems almost like a dream now, but which is the best-remembered incident of all the war to me.
"The ways of fate are very diverse," and it has truly happened to me that this sweet face looked into so long since has never been forgotten in all the years that have passed or are yet to come.