Well, to make a long story short the bluff worked—not like a charm, but with sufficient smoothness to enable the nervy spy to save his life. Brock and Baker had one or two more interviews, and by ransacking his brain for incidents he had learned about the prominent people of Knoxville he finally persuaded Brock that he was really Sam Munson. The visitor even went so far as to apologize for his seeming inability to place his fellow townsman at first sight.
“But you must remember that it has been many years since you left the old town, Sam. You’ve changed a lot since then.”
“Don’t mention it,” was the hearty response. “I’d have been the same if I had been in your place. But you’ve done me a good turn, and I won’t forget it.”
There was no doubt of the good turn—if saving a man from being shot as a spy can be placed in that category.
As a result of the business Baker was not released, but he was placed under parole. This gave him the right to wander about Richmond at will—the very privilege he most desired. If he had planned the thing in advance it could not have worked out more to his liking. He was free to go and come as he pleased, and he was actually under the patronage and the protection of the Confederate Government!
For two days and two nights he roamed about until he became as familiar with conditions in Richmond as if he were a resident. He obtained a mass of data concerning military plans and proposed movements, learned where troops were quartered and where fortifications were being erected. Most of this information he carried in his head, but in a few instances he made notes of a character which were intelligible to himself, but which were not likely to be decipherable to any one else. Finally the time came when he knew more than “was good” for himself, from a Confederate point of view. The question was how to get this knowledge to the Federal Government. The fact that he had been before Mr. Davis and was now at liberty made him seem harmless to most of the officers in Richmond. He became personally acquainted with some of them. One was the Provost Marshal, and so, one day, when he asked that official for a pass to permit him to visit Fredericksburg it was granted without any hesitation.
He proceeded to that place without any difficulty. Once or twice he was halted by sentinels, but the production of his pass was all that was needed to permit him to go on his way. On the night of the day he reached Fredericksburg he parted with another of his precious gold pieces to a negro who rowed him across the Rappahannock. He drew a breath of relief when he reached the other side of the stream, and yet he realized that his dangers had only begun. That night he slept in a haystack—slept the sleep of a dog-tired man, if not of the just. When he awoke at dawn he discovered signs of activity in the vicinity of the barn where he had slept and he knew that he was being pursued. He lay very quiet and listened. Voices were shouting and it did not take him long to learn that a squad of Confederate cavalry was on the hunt and that a number of horsemen surrounded the barn.
He shuddered at the thought of the consequences. He had plenty of courage but he did not relish the thought of being caught like a rat in a trap. He had provided himself with a revolver, and he firmly resolved that if he were detected he would not give his life easily. He grasped the weapon, and lay very, very quiet. He was almost afraid to breathe. Presently one of the cavalrymen dismounted and flourishing his sword began a search of the barn. Some of those on the outside were shouting instructions to the searcher, and he responded cheerily. He poked his sword here and there in the hay rick, calling meanwhile on any supposed fugitive to surrender if he did not want to be killed. At one time the point of the sword just grazed Baker’s boots. He could have screamed with nervousness, but by a super-human effort he managed to keep perfectly quiet. And by so doing he saved his life, for the officer turning to his companions called:
“He ain’t here, boys—we might as well move on!”
They rode off, to the great joy of the hidden man. He remained still until the sound of the horses’ hoofs had died out in the distance, and then he crept from his place of concealment more dead than alive. He waited for a long while and then crept out of the barn and made for the woods. How long he straggled through the woods he could not tell, but he was so hungry, and faint and footsore that nothing seemed to make any difference. That night he managed to get supper in a hut owned by a poor colored man, and afterwards tried to find just where the Potomac was located. When he reached that stream he discovered an old row boat. The owner of it was lying, half asleep, on the banks of the river. Baker invited him to sell the boat, offering the last of his gold pieces for craft, but the owner indignantly refused saying that he would not part with it for any price.