“Old!” exclaimed Tom Fortescue, in surprise, for the picture was that of a plain-looking, rather gawky lad of only nineteen—a “boy in blue”—with honesty and fearlessness in every line of his homely, gentle face.
“Well, I don’t say in years, perhaps,” said the General, “but in wisdom. Anyway, here’s his story. Give that coal a stir, will you. Now, then, here we are:
“We were in camp, not very far from Charleston, and it was a pretty serious business with us. You see, we hadn’t the least idea what the enemy were up to. My particular friend, Captain Kard, of the Confederate army, and I were talking about it not long ago, and he said he well remembered how, on their side, they were chuckling over our perplexity. Well, I must tell you that at the extreme end of our camp we had a bridge, and it was regularly patrolled by two of the men I picked out for the purpose, and the ‘other side’ had a place beyond similarly patrolled. If any message had to be sent over, the sentries reversed their guns as a signal of truce, and word was exchanged.
“Now although we were pretty badly off for provisions, and even ammunition, it wasn’t a circumstance to the condition of the ‘Johnnies,’ as we called the gentlemen over the way, and, worst of all, the poor chaps hadn’t the comfort of a ‘smoke’ even, which, as all soldiers will tell you, keeps the gnawing feeling of hunger away for a time at least. No, sir! they hadn’t five pounds of tobacco in their camp. But never mind! I’ll tell you what they did have. They had regularly every day a copy of their own Charleston paper, which, of course, was printed for Confederate eyes alone. I was sitting in my tent one night smoking and thinking and wondering how I could lay hands on one or two of those papers. You must know, my dear children, stratagem is always allowed and understood to be used on both sides in war. It is as much a part of the whole unhappy business as loading guns and firing them, and far better if it leads to peace and an end of cruel feeling. Now, if I could only get a copy or two of those papers, do you see, the key to the enemy’s next movements might be in our hands, and I suddenly struck a bright idea. I sent a man to replace Billy Forbes on the bridge, and presently that lad appeared in my doorway. He saluted, and I motioned him to come inside. Then, after warning him of the need of secrecy and caution, I told him my dilemma. Billy rubbed his head, whistled softly, looked up and down anxiously, and finally, after a moment’s star-gazing, ‘Lieutenant,’ says he, in his slow, Connecticut voice, ‘I’ve hit on a way—if you don’t mind.’
“‘Go ahead, Billy,’ I rejoined.
“‘Well, sir, you see those poor devils have scarcely a chew or a smoke of ’baccy among them.’
“‘How do you know?’
“‘Johnny on the other side made signs, sir, and mate and I weren’t slow to understand.’
“‘Well. Go on.’
“‘Now, if I could sneak over a bit from those great packages in the Quartermaster’s department, and make him know what we were after, sure as guns, Lieutenant, you’d have the papers.’