President Davis and his staff, dressed in plain, citizens' clothes, rode along the front of the line, his one sharp eye seeming to take in every man from horses' hoofs to their caps. He turned slowly around to the rear of the line, and rode close to where I happened to be standing at the time, and to this day I remember the sudden, sharp glance as his eye caught mine. Perhaps it was imagination or a guilty conscience that gave me the feeling at the time, but, whatever it was, I felt a shock.
After the ordinary forms of a review had been gone through with, to the accompaniment of a half a dozen or so bugles, the President and his party dismounted and held an informal reception to the officers and the crowd at the Colonel's headquarters.
I did not stay for this reception, because I was not, after that glance, particularly anxious to see Jeff at close quarters. I started back to the city on foot. I had gotten almost into town when I heard the Presidential party coming along the road behind me. As they came up, I stopped and was standing alone by the side of the road as President Jeff Davis passed. He was then talking pleasantly with some one who was riding along side of him. Seeing me, Mr. Davis turned away around, probably so his good eye could get me in range, and gave me another look, that pretty nearly convinced me that he had recognized in me the Montgomery Spy.
I do not suppose he gave the subject another thought, if he had at all entertained it, but I was made quite uncomfortable by the incident, which served to put me on my guard. I was becoming too careless.
Indeed, I went to Libby so often that I began to get acquainted with a couple of the Rebel guards, who had a little camp on some vacant lots on the opposite side of the street.
I had noticed that a few enlisted men from among our prisoners had been detailed by the Rebel officers to carry water and otherwise wait upon or assist in preparing the rations for the Union prisoners. Of course these men were always accompanied by a home guard, in gray clothes, who carried a loaded gun.
I WHISPERED TO HIM AS I WENT PAST. "NORFOLK IS TAKEN."
I had formed a rather foolish notion that it would be a great satisfaction to our prisoners if I could open communication with them, or, at least, that it would gratify them to let them know they had a friend who was at liberty in this city and anxious to serve them.
I gave this up after one trial. One day while loitering in that neighborhood, as usual, I passed on the pavement the customary Rebel guard accompanying a couple of fellows who carried a bucket of water in each hand.