One evening while sitting in my favorite place under the window, apparently dozing, but wide enough wake to take in every sound of the instrument which I knew emanated from the fingers of the operator at Richmond, my quick ear caught a message addressed to a prominent official. As it was being spelled out rapidly, promising something rich in the way of news development, I was eagerly straining every nerve and sense to catch every word of it. The instrument had ticked out the name and address, which had first attracted my attention, and I had read—"We have information from Washington that Banks—" when some big fellow among the crowd on the platform, of course not knowing of my intense earnestness at that moment, began a jig-dance on the board platform; and as his boots were at least number nine, and he weighed 200 pounds, of course the vibrations from that source smothered the other sounds. So intent and eagerly had I fixed myself on catching that message, and was so absorbed in my purpose, that, when the fellow made his first jump, I impulsively cried out: "Keep still a minute."
This was a dead "give away," or would have been to any person who had known anything of the telegraph business and my recent connection with the place; but, quickly recovering myself, I said, "All right; I thought the operator was calling me."
He went on with his dancing but I lost the message.
I afterward carelessly walked inside and tried, without exciting any suspicion, to ascertain what the information about Banks amounted to. I was not successful at the time, but kept the matter in my mind constantly during the evening, and the more I thought about it the more eager I became to know its purport.
I was satisfied fully, from personal observation, that there was no thought of an advance on Washington. I could see from the number of leaves of absence, and the great crowds of soldiers leaving by every train, that no forward movement was then contemplated. Besides this, I had heard on the wire message after message of an official character from quartermasters, commissaries and others interested in the movement of an army, of sufficient character to satisfy me of any projected advance. I decided to go to Washington and report thus much.
It had been arranged that, as Beauregard (or Johnston) had advanced his line to near Fairfax Court House, the telegraph office would be moved the next day, so as to be more convenient.
Late in the night, when the only one on duty in the office was the operator with a guard or sentry outside, I lay on the floor of the office affecting sound sleep, but wide-awake. Knowing that it was the last opportunity to get hold of any papers, I became anxious and almost desperate. A long message had been sent to "S. Cooper, Adjutant-General, Richmond," giving a full and detailed account of an epidemic that had apparently broken out in the army. The dispatch was important I knew, from the fact of its being addressed to S. Cooper, who I knew was Adjutant-General for Jeff Davis, and was, I think, signed by Dr. Cartright. It was quite long; the only part of it which I distinctly remember was the astonishing statement that twenty-five per cent., or one-fourth, of the Rebel Army were sick or unable to do any active duty on account of this epidemic of dysentery or diarrh[oe]a. This was an important admission in an official form, and I decided that it was the message in writing that I must carry with me to Washington. I observed carefully where the operator placed the original copy after it had been sent.
It was his duty to have remained there all night, prepared to receive or send communications that might chance to come, but we all know how soundly the night-owls can sleep while on duty, and I knew, or hoped, that this young fellow would soon take his chance and drop asleep, when I could abstract that Cooper message from his files.
I did not have to wait for him to sleep; he did better than that for me; he went out of the office and left me inside alone, and I, moving vigorously, with one eye watched his every movement; he further favored me by turning all his lights down before leaving. I inferred that his purpose (as all was quiet on the wire) was to go to his bunk and take a regular sleep like a Christian and a white man, and not like a common soldier. I heard his footsteps on the long platform grow fainter and further off, and then the sound disappeared as he jumped onto solid ground. Now was my chance to get that message.
Realizing that it might be my only opportunity, I quickly determined to take the risk of his returning soon and, perchance, missing the message from his file—it being conspicuous because of its bulky appearance. I silently stole up to the desk and slipped the big piece of paper from his hook and put it—not in my pocket, not by a good deal—but I carelessly laid it "aside," where I would be able to reach it, and where the operator could find it if he should return and take a notion to hunt it up.