There remains in existence to-day a neatly-written, faded letter addressed to "The friend of an hour," which my sister Ruthie has preserved. The smart, sharp, stinging words of this letter have served as a model for more than one communication under similar circumstances.
There was this peculiarity about the Wells family: they were all loyal and true to each other, and to their parents. More than one outsider has learned to their sorrow—touch one, and all of them were touched.
As serving to indicate this, and to show the innocence and purity of Geno, I will relate at my own expense an incident.
Shortly after the Captain and father had "escaped" through my connivance, Geno, in her sweet, hesitating voice, said to me, in reply to something I had been saying or doing: "Father said to me, as he bid me good-by: 'Geno, look out for Mr. O. K.'"
I was stunned. Perhaps I was presuming too far on my being solid with the family, and, in my usual impulsive way, I earnestly resented the Captain's caution, probably because I realized that he was right, and said something harsh in reply. Geno looked up into my face in a surprised way, while she defended her father. I shall never forget the words and the manner in which they were uttered: "Why, father knows best. I would not have him angry with me for anything."
It was a lesson to me. I was angry at the moment, but I loved her all the more for this evidence of loyalty to her parents.
It may be worth while to add a word of advice to the boys and girls who may read this. The good and faithful daughter always makes a good wife. Don't forget it, boys and girls.
To pick up the tangled love-knot in the thread of this narrative, I will say during the pleasant evening spent with the Wells family, I was so happy and contented that I became wholly oblivious to everything that was going on in the army outside. It was late the next day when I walked down to the railroad office as usual, to see if there was any news for me. It was then that I received the note of warning from my brother Spencer, which had come during my absence, a reference to which has been made further back in this narrative.
While in or around this office or station, about which were always congregated a great crowd of officers and soldiers off duty, as well as sutlers, newsboys, etc., I was pleasantly approached by General McCallum, who had charge of all the military railroads, as the successor of Colonel Thos. A. Scott, and who, after talking agreeably about some of the work I had previously undertaken, told me in his gruff way: "Railroad and telegraph employés have been required by the Secretary of War to take the oath of allegiance. All have signed but you, and I have left a blank in the office for your signature."
I was an employé, and as such was perfectly willing to sign all the oaths they required, and expressed my willingness to comply at once. I found a written blank form had been prepared for me in the office. I signed it without thinking it necessary to read. When handing the paper back to the clerk, he remarked jocularly: "They have made you sign a mighty tight paper, haven't they?"