General McDowell was not present; he had been sent to Washington, or to the Shenandoah Valley I think, so that those in command had no authority, as I knew, and I felt in my nervous condition that they had insulted me by daring to doubt my story.
While yet smarting under this disagreeable reception of my report, I sat down and sent Mr. Covode a dispatch, over the military wire, giving him in brief the results of my recent observations, and asserting positively that the army could go to McClellan if they wanted to. Those are not the words of the dispatch, but it was in substance the same story that I had told, with the addition of some bitter comments. I did not stop to think at the time that such a dispatch could pass through the War Department Telegraph Office, and be subject to that censorship. My only object was to hasten the information to headquarters through Covode, because I realized that the officers of our own army would not act upon it.
I did not know then, neither did General McClellan, or anybody else in the armies, that Secretary Stanton had sometime previously positively ordered General McDowell not to reinforce McClellan.
My dispatch was unintentionally a criticism on the Secretary of War; and, coming as it did, in this outside and unofficial way, to Covode, whose committee were investigating these things, it no doubt put me in bad shape before the Secretary of War.
Undoubtedly, Major Eckert, who was then the official in charge of the telegraph office, but who in reality acted as a messenger to carry private news to the ear of the Secretary, gladly availed himself of the opportunity to place me in a bad light before the Secretary.
As I had previously made several visits to Washington and Baltimore while sojourning with the family, my short absence of one day and two nights was not noticed.
I may be permitted to say, parenthetically, that Miss Mamie Wells, the second daughter, had gone to her sister's home in Baltimore under my charge a few days previous to this. Her war history, I venture to say here, would present one of the most attractive yet written.
She was, during the bombardment and battles, a Florence Nightingale to both sides; and to her parents and family, in the subsequent terrible sufferings consequent upon their exposed position between the two armies, became a heroine in deed and in truth.
My personal acquaintance with this remarkable young lady was confined to the few days of 1862. The incident which is best remembered occurred while riding up the Potomac from Aquia Creek as her escort, en route to Baltimore. In reply to something that I had said on the subject that was uppermost in my heart, she took occasion to say to me in a kind, sisterly way about Geno, that produced a lasting effect upon me: "You must not trifle with that child."