"O. K., O. K."
I had just laid down when footsteps were heard advancing toward the office door, and, in another moment, to my great relief, not the operator, but the colored servant or porter, tumbled in for an hour's sleep before it was time to sweep and clean up the office preparatory to the coming day's work. There was no more sleep for me. I was wide-awake to the importance of getting away from there as soon as possible. With the intent of throwing everybody off their guard, or to avoid any suspicion that might possibly attach to my sudden departure, I had made up, and had been careful to tell all the listeners I could get the day previous, that I was going out to Fairfax C. H. to find some friends whom I had understood were in camp there, and I might be away all day and night. Also, that I was tired of civil life about the railroad and anxious to enter the army, and would do so if I found my friends.
I knew that the operator who had been on duty, or supposed to have been on duty that night, would be relieved by the regular day man in the morning, so, of course, the man coming on duty would not be likely to know anything about the night messages, or to miss any messages that he himself had not sent. I therefore took the last opportunity to collect from the files of the office several interesting "documents," which I knew would be valuable souvenirs to show my friends when I should get back to Washington.
Early in the morning I secured a note from the Superintendent requesting a pass through the army for myself, to enable me to look up a friend. With a few further words of good-by to one or two companions, with whom I had been so singularly associated for a few days, I left the place, with the expectation of being able to reach Washington the same night.
The distance was but twenty miles, I think, to Alexandria. My plan was, during the daytime to travel openly under protection of my pass, in a course leading to the front. From the best outlook that I could reach, I hoped to place myself convenient to some unguarded point, through which I could escape from the Rebels, and in safety reach our own lines under cover of the darkness. It was not a particularly dangerous undertaking at that time, because the Rebels—officers and soldiers—whatever may be said to the contrary, were demoralized, and had become quite careless and almost indifferent to their surroundings.
I was now going into the very heart of the Rebel army. I think that I saw all that was to be seen in a day's scout. They had, what I thought at the time, an awful lot of cannon; and cavalrymen in bright gray uniforms were flying about everywhere, mounted on their own fine horses, and stirring up a dust in such a way as to impress me with the idea that the woods were full of horsemen. The infantry camps were, for the most part, pleasantly located; in fact, everything looked brighter from the midst of the army than it had from its rear; but there was everywhere present—along the roads, or in the yards of convenient houses—the same groups of sick-looking soldiers and officers, who were probably awaiting their turn to get home to die.
There were numerous fortifications, earthworks and masked batteries to be seen, and when I got on to the battlefield of Bull Run what a disgusting smell filled the air; the very atmosphere seemed to be thick and heavy with the odor of half-buried and half-burned horses and mules, the bones of which were to be seen in many places covered with carrion crows, which would fly off making their ugly noises as they hovered about in a way to make the heart sick. You all know how we used to "bury" the dead artillery and cavalry horses, by simply piling a few fence-rails over the bodies and then setting fire to the pile, and then ride off and leave the coals of the fire baking the carcass. Whew! the smell of those half-burned old horses sticks in my nostrils even after twenty-five years.
I have not much to say of the many poor fellows whose toes were to be seen above ground; and now and then a piece of blue cloth showed through the thin covering of earth, and one hand laid above the grave, from which the fingers had been actually rotted or eaten off. It's an ugly subject to write or think about now, and I dismiss it from my mind with the same feeling of disgust and sickness that I experienced that day I walked along the fields and fences in August, 1861. Under the pretence of looking for a sick comrade, whom I pretended might have died at one of the hospitals or private houses in that direction, I moved about unmolested. There were plenty of civilian visitors beside myself, who were readily granted the privilege of going over the battlefield; their army friends were glad of an opportunity to escort them, so it was not thought at all out of the way for me to be prowling about there alone in search of a sick or perhaps a dead friend. In this way I got beyond the battlefield without any trouble, and along the railroad toward the station from which a road leads up to Fairfax Court House. Here I began to encounter some difficulties in the way of guards and sentries which were placed about the railroad bridges and at the cross-roads. Their purpose was, as a general thing, I imagined, to prevent their own soldiers from roaming or straggling about too much.
I knew that the railroad track would lead me in the most direct route to Alexandria, and soon to our army on that line; but I understood, also, that it would be more carefully patrolled and guarded than were the country roads; and for this reason I preferred the woods in which to make my final dash for liberty, and the Union, and home.
The critical moments in a scout's experience come just at this point—after successfully passing beyond one line and before reaching the other; then occurs the time when capture means his sure detection, either as a deserter or a spy, with its terrible punishment; and it is extremely difficult to tell from appearances whether those you meet or see are the friends you hope to find or the enemies you desire to leave behind.