In fact, his bearing rather impressed me with an overwhelming sensation that the gun he carried was loaded, and the fellow who had command of it looked as if he were asking for a chance to try it on something.
He wasn't a companionable fellow, so I acted toward him as he did to me—with silent contempt; and that's the way I spent the evening. I knew very well that there were plenty of friends in town who would have called to see me in this, my time of need, if they had been permitted to do so. As it was, I was all alone in my glory, until late in the evening, when an officer, accompanied by a soldier, came to my prison door, the soldier carrying a little basket, which I was told contained my supper, which kind and motherly Mrs. Wells had sent to me, but not a word of sympathy or regret accompanied it. I don't know for sure, but I think that the contents had been, not only "inspected" by the officer of the guard on the lookout for contraband communications, but that the different little dainties had been sampled as well, probably to see if they did not conceal a poison.
This generous and thoughtful remembrance from Mrs. Wells, was the only indication I received in my solitary confinement, during all that beautiful but lonely long summer evening in Fredericksburg, that there were any persons outside of my four walls, except the grim old sentry. Of course, I well knew that at our house there would be assembled the usual crowd of happy young folks, and their conversation and thoughts would naturally be with me in my confinement. This comforting reflection was, however, somewhat disturbed by the fear that the entire family might either have been arrested or dispersed; so that, the discomforts of my close confinement were greatly increased by this fear, until I was in a manner assured of their safety by the arrival of the daintily-served lunch.
I slept that night—if I slept at all—on a bed of misery. At every turn I was made to realize that I was a prisoner—to our own side. Though the officers of General Patrick's Staff, who had charge of me, were accomplished gentlemen, and seemed apparently to sympathize with me, I could not conceal and they must have seen my distress, they were obliged, by the strict orders they had received—as was frequently explained to me—direct from the Secretary of War—to prevent any communication with me.
The morning following my arrest, after a hasty and solitary breakfast, I was personally visited by General Patrick, who was then Provost-Marshal for that Army, who, in the most kindly manner possible, expressed his regrets for the necessity of putting me to so much inconvenience, further explaining that, once in Washington, I could no doubt get everything fixed up. He then showed me two letters and a small pocket Bible that had been sent to me, but which he could not deliver to me, under the strict orders to permit no communication. When I recognized the address of one letter to be the well-known handwriting of my father, the very sight of it seemed to be like a thrust of a knife into my heart, as I at once realized how distressing to him would be the news of my arrest—my friends had been expecting in its stead a promotion, by way of recompense for my past services. The other note I knew was from Geno, while the Bible was the last, best gift of Mrs. Wells.
I was assured by General Patrick that they should be sent along with me to Washington, in the care of the officer in charge, and he hoped and expressed the belief that I should soon be free and get possession of them.
With a kind "Good-by," he introduced me to Captain ——, whose name I have forgotten, and a Lieutenant, who would kindly accompany me to Washington. The Captain very considerately observed that it had been arranged that we should get out of town quietly, without attracting any attention from the crowds about the streets, who had, no doubt, heard of my arrest.
To better accomplish this and avoid the depot, we crossed the river together at a ferry, in order to take the train for Aquia Creek from the other side, and, in so doing, we passed within a half block of Geno's house, but not within sight of it.
The Captain who accompanied me, though always by my side or, at least, close by me, considerately made it a point to act toward me—his prisoner—as if I were merely a companion. Not any of the crowd that took the train that day with us suspected that I was a prisoner. And, by the way, there was a great crowd leaving for Washington about that time, caused, if I remember aright, by some bad news from General Banks in the Valley, or McClellan.
It was the Lieutenant who was acting as the silent partner of the Captain, who kept the closer eye upon me, while, at the same time, he discreetly kept himself aloof from us and did not appear at all as one of the party. I mention all this minutely, merely to show that, notwithstanding the strict orders of the Secretary of War, and the close watch of the two officers, I succeeded in communicating with my friends at Washington.