It was on a beautiful morning in the early part of the month of April, 1862, when a lady, mounted upon a handsome and spirited black horse, and accompanied by a young and intelligent-looking negro, also excellently mounted, rode out of the city of Richmond, apparently for the purpose of enjoying a morning ride. Provided with the necessary passports, they experienced no difficulty in passing the guards, and after a short ride found themselves in the open country beyond the city.
The lady was young, handsome and apparently about twenty-five years of age. Her complexion was fresh and rosy as the morning, her hair fell in flowing tresses of gold, while her eyes, which were of a clear and deep blue, were quick and searching in their glances. She appeared careless and entirely at ease, but a close observer would have noticed a compression of the small lips, and a fixedness in the sparkling eyes that told of a purpose to be accomplished, and that her present journey was not wholly one of pleasure.
After leaving the city the colored attendant spurred to her side, and then, putting spurs to their horses, they broke into a swift canter. Their road lay along the river bank, which here led in a south-easterly direction. Turning to the negro at her side, the lady remarked:
"Now, John, we have a ride of ten miles before us, and we must be at Glendale as early as possible."
"All right, missus," rejoined her sable companion, "dese hosses will take us through in good shape, I know."
They followed the course of the stream, whose waters glistened in the rays of the morning's sun like polished silver. On either side the road was fringed with a growth of cottonwood trees, that cast a grateful shade along their path, while the cool breezes of the rippling river rendered their ride a most delightful one indeed. But as they sped along the most casual observer would have noticed from the expression of their faces that their ride was being undertaken for other purposes than pleasure.
The riders pressed on, scarcely slackening their speed until in the near distance could be seen the tall spire of the single church in the pleasant little village of Glendale. They now drew rein and brought their smoking steeds to a slow walk, and riding leisurely onward, they stopped before a neat little inn located on the outskirts of the town.
An old, white-headed negro took their horses and led them away, while the landlady, a neat and tidy-looking matron, wearing widow's weeds, met the lady at the door, and cordially welcomed her into the house.
"Here, Jennie," she called to her daughter, a trim little girl of twelve years, "show this lady to her room."
Following the little girl, the lady was conducted into a cool and pleasant little parlor, with windows opening upon the garden, and through which came the fragrant breath of roses in full bloom.