It was only when my curiosity was aroused by this remark that I thought of reading over the form of the oath. I think it was what was known in the year after as the cow-catcher bond or iron-clad oath. It was purposely made strong enough to catch any supposed case of disloyalty. It contained one simple clause that at the time seemed to perplex me a little. It read in substance: "I have never belonged to any organization, or borne arms against the Government of the United States, voluntarily or involuntarily."
I could not conscientiously or truthfully swear to that. I was willing enough to do almost anything to get around the ugly point, that seemed like a rock in my path, without being forced to explain that I had voluntarily united with the rebel army, and involuntarily borne arms against the Government. I dreaded very much putting my name to a paper which could in any event be brought up against me as a proof that I was "a perjurer."
I was loyal to the core, as everybody who has read this must know; but I had—I may say voluntarily—united myself with the Third Battalion of Rebel Maryland Artillery. To be sure, I was forced by the necessities of my peculiar work and the situation during my sickness in Richmond, as well as prompted by a desire to further and better aid the United States Government, to do this; but the stubborn fact was—I had taken their oath and I had in reality borne Rebel arms. I had not told anyone in Fredericksburg about this, and none of the railroad employés knew anything of my former experiences. Perhaps Geno had my confidence, but none of the family ever received any intimation from her of my true character. To them all I was, as Sue put it, "A nice little fellow from Pennsylvania, and that's all we know."
I saw at the first glance of this new oath that I was in a tight place; and, in a moment of hasty impulse, prompted solely by a desire to be truthful and honorable to myself, I scratched my name from the paper. Without a word of explanation to the astonished clerk, I took it to Gen. McCallum, and, in a few words, explained my action, and desired him to try and find some way out of the trouble for me. He had understood in a general way something of my experiences, and when I told him my action, he agreed with me, and said that it was right and honorable in me to protect my name. Further, on his return to Washington the day following, he said he would report the matter to the Secretary of War, and asked that I be permitted to remain in the service without being compelled to sign that iron-clad paper.
I thought then that the matter was settled, and in the evening went home from my office, to pass another—only one more—of the enjoyable, happy nights, in the company of the ladies.
In the meantime the leaven I had sent to Washington previously, in the shape of a telegram to Covode, had begun to work; so that when General McCallum got back to Washington City the next day, and reported my case to the Assistant Secretaries, P. H. Watson and General Eckert, these two officials put their wise heads together, and with only the evidence in their possession, which was additionally overbalanced by General Eckert's former prejudice, they came to the hasty conclusion, without giving me a chance to be heard, that "I was a very dangerous man," and so reported their conclusion to Mr. Stanton, whose attention was at the same time called to my reports to Covode.
The telegrapher at Fredericksburg at that time, was a Mr. Gentry, of Kentucky, a clever gentleman, as all Kentuckians are that I have ever met.
That afternoon, while lounging in the cool parlor with Geno and Miss Sue, I was called to the door by a visit from Mr. Gentry, who politely informed me that he had an intimation from my brother and friends in Washington that I would get into trouble unless I signed that oath. Mr. Gentry very kindly advised me, to use his own words, which made such a lasting impression on me that I have not forgotten them: "Now, don't you be carried away by infatuation for this pretty little girl; act sensibly for the present; why, I'd sign anything, and I'm from Kentucky."
He was very courteous, and I felt that he had been sent after me, and if there is any one thing that I abhor it is being "led" or coddled. He knew nothing of my reasons for declining the oath, and when he desired a reply from me to telegraph back to Washington, I merely said: "Just tell them I won't do it. They will understand that."
"But," Mr. Gentry interposed, "the Secretary of War sends this word—that you must do it."