During all this time Webster was gathering information from every quarter concerning the secret plots and movements of the disloyal citizens, and promptly conveying it to me, and for this purpose he made frequent trips to Washington for verbal instructions, and to report in person the success of his operations. Sometimes he would be accompanied by one or more of his intimate associates, and these occasions were not without profit, for when thus accompanied, although necessarily prevented from reaching my office, he was enabled to increase his acquaintance with the traitorous element of Washington, and finally was enabled to unmask several guilty ones whose loyalty had never been impeached or suspected.
Once, on returning to Baltimore, after a longer absence than usual, his friends greeted him warmly.
"By Jove, Webster, we had begun to think you were in trouble," one of them exclaimed.
"No danger of that," was the laughing response. "I have no intention of being trapped before I fulfill my mission. I have some valuable work to do for the Southern Confederacy before the Yankees can get the upper hand of me."
They were in a saloon—a favorite rendezvous of these men—and Webster was in the midst of his crowd. He was telling them about some imaginary "points" which he had picked up in Washington, and assuring them he would in some manner transmit the information he had received to the rebel commanders before he was a week older. While thus entertaining his hearers, his attention was attracted by a man who entered the saloon with a swaggering gait, his hands in his pockets, and his hat tipped over one side of his head. He knew this man as a ruffian and bully of the worst stripe, Bill Zigler, and one of the ringleaders of the mob that had attacked the Union troops on the 19th of April; consequently, he entertained a wholesome contempt for the fellow, and avoided him as much as possible.
He was much surprised when the new-comer stopped in the middle of the room, and exclaimed, gruffly:
"Hello, Webster! You're here, are you? By G—d, I've been looking for you!"
Webster turned toward him a look of surprised inquiry.
"Did you speak to me, sir?" he asked, quietly.
"Yes, I spoke to you, sir!" mimicked Bill Zigler, in a bullying voice. "I say I've been lookin' for you, and when I've spoke my piece I reckon this town will be too hot to hold you many hours longer."